Below are the 1 most recent journal entries recorded in this_thorn's InsaneJournal:

Thursday, May 8th, 2008

12:40 am

Canto XXVIII A Ginny/Pansy drabble series. WIP, but my half is already done (*cough, cough*) Abscond Word Count: 200 There's a wand poking her in the side, the sheets are damp beneath her and she's alone in someone else's bed, but it doesn't really matter because she's late for class. It's no surprise. Ginny has no problem recalling the events of the night before, though she's equally certain that the look on McGonagall's face, were she to hear the excuse, would not quite be worth the look on Ron's. Men, she thinks, are almost universally obtuse. She locates her knickers with her toes and dresses methodically, forcing herself not to imagine someone strolling in, finding her nearly naked and sleep-mussed in a bed reeking of sex. Or to imagine how many people saw her already. She fastidiously packs regret into a small box that fits neatly on a shelf between The Diary and Harry. A scroll lies on the pillow, addressed to her in Pansy's curlicue hand and she laughs hoarsely, reading it, because she knows Draco wouldn't have Pansy on a silver platter. Can you imagine what would happen if your boyfriend caught you sneaking out? Or, better yet, mine? “Bloody bitch,” she thinks, then mutters it aloud, just in case there's someone around to hear her. Bedlam Word Count: 300 The din of the Great Hall is curiously muted, voices distant and wavering, like sunbeams through water. Ginny casts a languorous glance at the ceiling as she enters, only mildly disappointed not to find fish-shaped shadows passing through the enchanted sunlight. She arrives at the Gryffindor table without realising she's moved. Nobody touches her and she scarcely feels the ground beneath her feet. She's drifting, free and inconsequential, and it gives the entire morning the lazy, comfortable quality of a dream. If anyone has spoken to her she hasn't noticed and they haven't pressed the issue. She's glad: this just might be the one time pinching actually wakes her up and tears her out of this pleasantly insubstantial reality. The food has no taste – she's not even sure what she's eating – but it doesn't matter, none of it matters except the cushioning silence around her ears that is quite possibly the most wonderful thing she's ever felt. She hears the door open, then. It creaks and groans and scrapes across the floor like shattered bone on slate, and she nearly chokes on her breakfast with the effort of not looking. Nobody else seems to notice or care; Ron's shovelling yet another forkful into his already stuffed mouth, as though he can't hear the military precision of resonating footfalls heading to the Slytherin table; stopping; waiting; lifting one foot, then the other; sitting down in a too-narrow space next to Draco. People are conversing around her, but she can't imagine they hear a thing over that too-high, too-sharp, too-superior voice echoing off the stone walls as though nobody else were in the room. She gives up and lets her eyes follow her ears. Pansy's gaze meets hers across the Hall and the silence shatters. Corona Word Count: 100 Pansy is nothing like Draco. Pansy doesn't fill a room, reflecting and refracting attention until there's nothing but her and an insignificant everything else. Pansy's hair doesn't glow and shimmer in the morning, drawing people's stares like the sun, even though they know better. Pansy is small and black-headed and draws whatever she can grasp to her with a smug self-satisfaction that is really quite unattractive. Draco is incandescent and holds the world in his thrall, but when Ginny opens her eyes she sees only darkness, and she's afraid to consider she might like it better this way. Dynamic Word Count: 100 Harry was using the loo at the Leaky Cauldron when it happened. Like waking from a dream, she looked up to find Draco Malfoy before her, dressed in light summer robes and staring unabashedly, top to bottom, taking in Ginny Weasley, dressed for a date and devoid of Gryffindor escort, with a smile that said his thoughts were anything but gentlemanly. His eyes met hers. Then, in a sensuous whirl of fabric and platinum hair, he was gone and Harry was back, hand suddenly too heavy on her hip, voice too loud and too familiar, and Ginny made her decision. Egregious Word Count: 300 Harry is looking at her with something between contempt and blind fury, fingers curling, hand reaching almost reflexively for his wand as the silence stretches, and all Ginny can think is Do I really have to deal with this now? She’s about to say just that when Harry lunges forward, grabbing ruthlessly at her hair and crushing his lips to hers. She could have known this was coming and she should be thinking of what she’ll say to Harry when he finally lets her breathe and she really should be scared of the way he’s obviously trying to hurt her, but her mind is too occupied with What if Pansy sees this? The ironic clapping doesn’t fit with any of it and she’s abruptly falling away from Harry (she might have pushed him) and whirling around to the tune of Bravo, Potter, I didn’t know you had it in you. She’s suddenly very glad Pansy’s not here and vehemently wishing Harry weren’t, either, and she’s trying to say as much but her jaw just moves soundlessly under Draco’s amused gaze until she finally settles, irrationally, on mouthing It’s not what you think. Now there’s a conversation happening above her head and she can’t understand why Harry and Malfoy (who are sometimes Potter and Draco) are ignoring her completely until Malfoy says her name and Really, you’d be better off with me and I don’t even like you – wait, I almost forgot, neither does she. Draco leaves with Ginny looking where he was and Harry looking anywhere but Ginny when he whispers I only ever did it for your mother. Then they’re both gone, leaving Ginny alone in the corridor with nothing but a ringing in her ears that sounds suspiciously like He doesn’t really want either of us, you know. Flotsam Word Count: 500 It's over. Everything is broken. Ginny isn't sure what's left to salvage, if anything. She feels like she's standing amidst the aftermath of a hurricane that, if she's honest with herself, she'd have to name Ginevra, and the devastation is so great she doesn't recognise anything in the debris that was once her life. It's more daunting than depressing, she finds. The year is drawing to a close and she has O.W.L.s to pass; Harry's life hasn't been significantly threatened in too long: the dam has to break soon; and the seventh years are about to leave for good and this could well be her last chance to make something happen. The fact that she'll have nobody to talk to when they're gone, having made fine work of alienating her classmates all year, the fact that she's lost hold of the ropes that her together her personal romantic quadrangle, or that Ron will be sure to tell their mother everything, possibly without waiting until school's out – those are things to worry about later. Still, she doesn't know where to start. She wishes there were someone to tell her what to do or, at the very least, tell her what she can do. Her choices thus far seem to be a bit lacking in judgement, if not altogether stupid, and she feels unbearably exhausted, like she only has the strength for one more play before the game is called and she's too tired to understand what decision to make. She can't cry to her mother; the poor woman doesn't know anything of what's been happening at school and certainly wouldn't approve if she did. Her brothers, each and every one, are completely out of the question as well. Even if they could stop forever thinking of her as the baby sister, she knows the words "Draco Malfoy" are one thing sure to make their vision go as red as their hair in a heartbeat. Hermione's honestly the closest thing she ever had to a female friend, but she can already see in her mind's eye the look she'll get tonight in the Common Room, disappointed and so full of we-need-to-have-a-talk-about-this that Ginny will have a hard time holding back a sound I-don't-need-another-mother-dammit-go-nag-Ron without biting through her tongue. Pansy would probably be her best bet but, although she didn't look particularly triumphant when Ginny last saw her, she wasn't exactly contrite, either. At least, it's not enough to suggest Pansy's in the same foundering boat as her and, because of that, Ginny doesn't find herself willing to be made a fool twice in one day. That's the end of it – her great cadre of confidants. There's really nobody to talk to - at least, nobody she wants to talk to. And it's funny, she reflects, because for the first time since the school year started, she really would like somebody to listen. Gratification Word Count: 700 “Good night, Millicent,” Draco's uninflected voice drifts down the corridor as his footsteps disappear into the boys' dormitories. “And thank you.” To anyone not Slytherin it might have sounded courteous, but Millicent's known him long enough to recognize the slow-burning anger beneath his coolly civil tones. She's glad this time she was only the messenger, and that Draco is gentleman enough not to hold that against her. At the top of the staircase to the girls' rooms she pauses to catch her breath, only then realising she's panting like she just Apparated for the first time. That wasn't nearly as nerve-wracking, though - at least then the outcome was simple: success or splinching. Draco knows ways of hurting people so circuitous and devastating that the possibility alone is enough for Millicent to accord him a healthy amount of respect. And a wide berth when he's angry. The Common Room is never so empty as when Draco Malfoy holds a midnight meeting in front of the fireplace. Millicent hasn't heard, and knows better than to ask, just why no one ever tries to eavesdrop from the wings – not even the most idiotic first-years – but she wouldn't be surprised to hear it took only one example of Draco's displeasure to make an unwritten law of it. By the third stair she can already hear the low muffled sounds coming from Pansy's room: there are a million things it could be, but only one that it is. They never seem to bother using a silencing charm, even though the first-year dorm is just across the hall and Pansy, of all people, should well understand the importance of subtlety. Normally she'd leave them be; her room is at the other end of the hall and she'll be able to sleep just fine while they slowly tear everything apart. But the door isn't pushed to and the dance of shadows and wandlight visible through the crack has her drawing nearer until her forehead is pressed against cool stone and the gloom becomes a clear chiaroscuro tableau. In the eerie glow Pansy's face is all planes and sharp angles, an unflattering contrast to her normal girlish roundness, and makes her look not older, but old. Millicent can't see much of Weasley beyond a few glinting strands of auburn knotted in Pansy's fingers, but she doesn't have to. It really can't be anyone else. She's not sure when it started, but if it's anywhere near what she suspects, it's long since moved past mere curiosity. Weasley set her sights on Draco so abruptly and vigorously that the sudden defection of her attention to Pansy couldn't pass without notice. She can't imagine Pansy thought she was being discreet; she's a fool, but not stupid. Either she's so desperate she's let sail her better judgement, or she's so enamoured of the Weasley girl that her mind's gone Gryffindor, which is more or less the same thing. But if she's in love she has a strange way of showing it. Millicent's always thought voyeurism was gauche, at best, but what she's watching hardly resembles sex: it's like a nude wrestling match, or perhaps a duel to the death with the only weapons hands and tongues and contempt made tangible. Pansy's not trying to hold Weasley between her legs nor trying to pull her up the bed. She clutching the hair in a clawed hand and twisting, like she'd gladly gouge the other girl's eyes out if only she could reach. She thought Pansy was Slytherin enough to know you only fight the fights you can win. Suddenly they change positions – probably for politic reasons, not sexual – and for the instant their faces pass through Millicent's window she gets the impression of bared teeth and furrowed brows, like thunder and lightning crashing down together. The breathy sounds they make are not those of pleasure, but of combat; whether they're fighting each other or themselves or whatever bystander they think is to blame for the mess they're in, Millicent neither knows nor cares. They're killing one another – slowly, but sure as anything – and, as she leaves them there, Millicent pities them both, just a little. Harangue Word Count: 100 The look on his face should have warned her. “…because I really do love you and I really am serious about this. Maybe someday we could even …well, I’m planning to train as an Auror. It would have made my parents proud. I just wish they could be here. “It would be great if we all ended up in the Ministry, you Hermione, Ron, and I. We’d make a great team, Hermione in Research and Ron and I in…” Ginny sighed through her smile. Didn’t he realize everyone had known for months? Then again, Harry always did overlook the obvious. Indemnify Word Count: 400 With Pansy’s thighs clamped about her ears the world is pleasantly muffled and Ginny can make believe she is somewhere else with anyone else, doing something that won’t ultimately leave her feeling tired and sore and utterly fucking sick of being Ginny Weasley. Pansy’s voice comes from far away and Ginny’s tempted to scream herself, just to see if Pansy can hear her. Harry never smells Pansy’s sweat in her hair or tastes it on her lips, Ron doesn’t ask who’s sending her post three mornings a week and Hermione doesn’t know Ginny looks at her some nights and thinks “I could have that if I wanted it.” And she hopes Pansy hasn’t told Draco because it’s worse to think he already knows and simply doesn’t care. It’s an ugly game they play, with ever-changing rules and no goal that either of them will admit to (– that rule always stays the same). At first the challenge was getting a reaction from Pansy beyond a scowl or snide “Is that all?” and, at first, Ginny thought they were playing the same game because Pansy would bite her hand raw before she’d so much as whimper. But eventually panting became gasping became moaning – became something too close to normal for either of them. So Ginny changed the game: Pansy can scream all she pleases, but Ginny refuses to make a sound, crack a smile or even close her eyes in pleasure. And, thanks to her efforts, some of the smugness has ebbed from Pansy’s post-coital sneer, taking with it the occasional tenderness that was creeping into their kisses. (The sweat running down Ginny’s back makes her shiver and she tells herself to fucking focus -- reality has no place in whatever it is they’re doing.) There’s more violence than care in their fucking, now, though Ginny can’t work out who they’re trying to hurt or why Pansy keeps trying so hard for no reward. (Whether she wants Pansy to try harder or give up altogether is just one more question she can’t answer.) Pansy’s hips begin bucking and rolling and Ginny slows her strokes, finally noticing the stiff cramping in her calves and the burning hypersensitivity that means pruned fingertips. It’s more familiar than the feel of her own wand and, for that moment, with her fingers squelching and Pansy breathing in gratified sobs, she truly wishes she were someone else. Junta Word Count: 200 Harry is afraid to talk to Ginny, but he doesn't have a choice: he's already asked everyone else. Ron said girls are just like that, but don't worry, you two are perfect for each other. Hermione said she really doesn't understand girls, either, but it's probably just hormones – she has a book on feminine ailments if he'd like. Luna, who he thought was friends with Ginny, just shrugged and said, “I suppose it could be flowering kobolds – they're a problem this time of year if she's sensitive to the pollen.” She also added that symptoms usually include blistering boils and rapidly-growing toenails – not the moody reservation that's drying Ginny out like a leaf in autumn. Nobody's been able to help him, and Harry just wants to know what's wrong in their relationship so he can fix it. They already sit together at breakfast, go to Hogsmeade, kiss and even sleep together when he can sneak her past Ron, but something's still missing. He's willing to do almost anything to find it, short of asking Ginny herself, because he's terrified that, if he asks, she just might say that the problem is she doesn't really care about him after all. Keynote Word Count: 800 Pansy always assumed she'd end up with Draco. Growing up, he was the only boy she ever had playdates with and by the age of 10 she became aware that a good portion of the conversation happening while they fought over toys between her mother and Draco's revolved around inheritances, grandchildren and whether or not it was appropriate for them to attend the same wizarding school. None of it mattered, then: Draco was a fine enough friend, and he never stole her hair ribbons or tried be the mother when they played "house," which made him better than most. It wasn't until Hogwarts that it became important - vitally important - that everyone know Draco belonged to her. Hogwarts was an entirely different pitch and, until that first day of school when she saw all eyes fix on the youngest Malfoy with wonder and no small amount of envy as he strode to meet the Sorting Hat, she didn't realise Draco Malfoy was much more than an unwilling tea party companion and father to a brood of stuffed grindylow children. Draco Malfoy, with his mother's icy colouring, is the most handsome boy in the school. With his father's temper, the most dangerous. With their combined money he sits to inherit a fortune that could make every Slytherin turn greener than their bedsheets. And, to top it off, Draco is smart. Not like the Mudblood Granger and her mountains of books - Draco possesses an innate incandescent intelligence uniquely his own. He goes through the motions of studiousness to appease his father, who could never realize the quick, violent wit his son conceals. For all that, though, it's a stealthy intelligence that he uses only for his own purposes - a patient intelligence that will one day reshape the wizarding world under the Malfoy banner. Pansy knows all these things - knew them then, even - and fancies she's the only person who has realised that, when the smoke clears and Harry Potter and Voldemort lay scorched and dead on the ground, there will be only one wizard left who matters in the world and, for that reason, Pansy cannot afford to let anything change the plans that were made long before she or Draco first drew breath. Ginny Weasley is another matter entirely, and one she tries hard not to think about, not even when they're tangled about each other in sheets smelling of sex and slow-simmering bitterness. She asks herself, and often, just what she thinks she's doing and, though she has many answers, she'll die before she voices any of them aloud. She sometimes thinks of excuses, should Draco ever turn to her and actually notice what she's doing. She wants it to be impressive – she wants to be able to say 'Look at me, Draco. I've ensnared the Weasleys with my charms so we can use them to control the Ministry!' and Draco will look at her and say, 'That's my Pansy' in that gentle tone he always reserves for her (though she's yet to hear it). But she's all too aware that Ginny has no affections for her and, only by virtue of their continuing liaison has the competition been held at stalemate for so long. Whatever her plan was in the beginning, it wasn't very good and she probably has less reason now than when she started. Only quitting has become synonymous with losing, and that is not an option; the rest of the world can merrily go up in a giant Incendio as long as she is the one Draco chooses in the end. Though she may not know her own reasons, she's completely certain of what Ginny hopes to get from all this. She's spent too many years vigilantly defending the narrow path to Draco's affections not to recognize the mode of a challenger, no matter what new and strange tactics she may use. What makes her different, though, and therefore dangerous, is that Pansy suspects Ginny actually knows just how important Draco is. Potter would welcome her in an instant if she simply wanted someone rich, famous and handsome (and Potter is, for all his commonness, not hideous). But Ginny doesn't want that: she's after Draco, is willing to fight her way through Pansy to get him, and it fills Pansy with a panicky winged fear of losing because Ginny doesn't bloody well deserve him. It's a cold war with no rules and even fewer victories; she knows the goal is Draco, but the course is twisted and seldom marked. So it's when Draco comes upon them pressed against a wall in the dungeons, doing their best to suffocate each other with their tongues, and passes, saying, “Parkinson. Weasley.” Pansy all but screams in triumph because he said her name first. Loess Word Count: 100 Ginny's missing a hair clip. She knows exactly where it is – or where it was, at least – but if Pansy already found the damn thing in her room and recognised it, she'll have long since Evanesco'd it out of existence, possibly after transfiguring it into a piece of parchment and setting it ablaze. It's not that she was particularly fond of that hair clip, per se, but the fact that it's gone, and that every time she looks for it she'll be forced to think of Pansy Parkinson, makes her that much more determined to never let it happen again. Mordant Word Count: 200 “Watching Potter practise, Weasley?” “None of your business.” “How sweet. It must really make him feel loved.” “Bugger off and die, Parkinson.” “That time of the month?” “What!” “Only you didn't visit last night.” “I wasn't aware we had an appointment.” “Oh, forgive me, Miss Weasley! I just thought you were trying to get our darling Draco's attention.” “What the hell do you know about it?” “I know you know Draco belongs to me and you can't stand it.” “Get over yourself, Parkinson. I'm just bored. Your being here is making it worse, by the way.” “Gryffindors are such terrible liars. In fact, you lot don't have many admirable talents to speak of.” “I've never considered lying an 'admirable talent'.” “No? You certainly do it enough.” “What–” “See, I heard a rumour recently that you've been acting strangely. That you don't much talk to your friends and that you were rather decoratively drawing my name in your book during Binns' class.” “How–” “So one has to wonder: have your allegiances changed? Or do you not even know what you want?” “Fuck you, Parkinson.” “Where are you going? What about Harry?” “Obviously he doesn't bloody need me.” Nescience Word Count: 300 Obstreperous Word Count: 600 Proxy Word Count: 400 Quiddity Word Count: 100 It can only be Pansy who told, but Ginny doesn't care enough to wonder why. Ron is throwing ten kinds of fit as Hermione stands by, worrying her lower lip, unsure if she wants to stop him or join in. Draco left before the drama began, trailing an entourage of loyal myrmidons, Slytherin neophytes and a studiedly blank Pansy Parkinson. Harry is nowhere, but Ginny doubts it possible that he hasn't heard the news. She adroitly tunes out her brother and stirs salt into her porridge, wondering idly if this means that it's finally over, and, if so, with whom. Regimen Word Count: 200 Two minutes into breakfast and Ron’s already upset three goblets of orange juice and scattered a plate of rolls to the four corners. It’s certainly nothing new, but Ginny joins in the mickey-taking nonetheless. * Staring at the Binns-colored wall, it occurs to Ginny that Draco Malfoy has a beautiful smile. Not that she’s seen it, but his teeth are white and straight, if somewhat feral; he just needs something to smile about. * Snape patrols his classroom with malicious intent, compounding his causticity with every remark, daring some inattentive Griffindor to break the dam. Colin’s always had poor luck, and Ginny cringes as Snape promptly descends upon him. * At lunch it’s Harry’s turn to wreak havoc. Hermione’s outrage at her sodden text is matched in volume only by Seamus and Ron’s Quidditch banter. * Ginny’s Transfiguration lesson drags and is ultimately pointless because, as much as she likes the idea, she can’t see an apple turning into a chocolate bar. * Dinner is quite normal, except Ginny’s not eating. Pansy Parkinson, sitting at the Slytherin table, is running her tongue over her lips in a distinctly predatory fashion. And, for the first time in six years, she’s looking Ginny in the eye. Sepulchre Word Count: 300 Harry frowns in his sleep, the furrowing of his brows throwing into sharp relief the scar that made him famous before he ever set foot in the wizarding world. He writhes to the beat of intermittent nightmares, wreaking havoc on the bedding. When Ginny is within reach he clutches and cloys, pressing her against his chest with the suffocating grip of a child on his teddy. Ginny, however, has long practice extricating herself from both limbs and sheets: she leaves his bed soundlessly, snatches his invisibility cloak and makes the familiar trip to the dungeons. A perpetual sneer mars Pansy's features, even in sleep, and if she was ever a pretty girl, it's more than Ginny can say. She looks small and young in the elegant oversized bed, like the spoiled rich child she is. She never invites Ginny to share her space any longer than necessary – truly, never gives any words of encouragement whatever, but they don't either of them need it. Ginny always arrives late, waking Pansy with harsh kisses and anxious hands, because every moment she can avoid that cruel, knowing gaze feels like a victory. Sometimes Ginny considers deliberately waking Harry as she leaves, letting him catch a glimpse of her stealing out the door in the dead of night, knowing he will follow without a second's deliberation. She would do it if only to witness the spectacular explosion that would certainly follow Harry seeing his girlfriend slip into Slytherin territory like the turncoat she probably is. Often, as Ginny leaves Pansy's room to a snide it's been fun, Weasley – do come again, she tries to convince herself it will solve everything if she could only seal Pansy's door behind her, trap her in there like a scowling Fortunato: afraid, alone and missed by no one. Temptation Word Count: 100 The castle spires are wreathed in fog and candles burn in distant windows. Their muted glow doesn't reach Ginny where she sits on the grass, trousers long-since soaked through. Lying, like all things, becomes easier with practice and, if the victims are her friends, her conscience troubles her little these days. She tells herself it's nobody's business, that it's their own fault for getting involved. She tells herself she can stop any time, that she knows exactly what's on the table. Because what Slytherins offer seldom comes without a price, one Ginny pays every time she climbs into Pansy's bed. Unctuous Word Count: 100 Harry is like the walking line of Please Forgive Me cards. Apparently he's done something wrong, but Ginny can't imagine for the life of her what it might be. He's not sleeping with Pansy, nor his brother's best friend; he's not even committing gross lies of omission against his parents and siblings. Though right now she'd forgive him anything if he would just shut up. He pauses for breath and Pansy appears out of nowhere, slithering up behind him, speaking far too loudly in the sudden silence, “Go ahead. Lie down and beg, Potter. That's how she likes it best.” Verification Word Count: 700 Withdrawal Word Count: 400 Monday marks one week since Ginny’s seen Pansy. It’s not like she’s counting, only that’s seven consecutive days she’s attended Harry’s Quidditch practise, watching him train the new Seeker for hours on end with Ron occasionally batting them Bludgers to keep them on their toes. And it’s not like Harry expects her to be there, he just can’t seem to conceive that she might not want to be. If he weren’t so completely guileless, if he didn’t keep looking at her with those wistful mooncalf eyes, Ginny just might find the courage to tell him she has something else to do. Which she hasn’t. Tuesday sees a small riot at the Slytherin table in the absence of Draco’s marshalling presence. Someone stole something that may or may not be a priceless family heirloom and only its immediate return can prevent the public unearthing of certain family skeletons. It’s only when Snape swoops in insinuating room inspections that a half-eaten box of chocolate frogs is returned to its rightful owner and suddenly no two Slytherins meet each other’s eyes. Snape stalks away, and Ginny is completely baffled. Wednesday Ginny has potions with Slytherin, and she hates them all. Living in the dungeons they regularly see Pansy and Draco. Draco and Pansy. They aren’t forced to sit for days and weeks and wonder, because the possibilities of what they’re doing turn her stomach more than the troll eye she’s methodically mincing into a pulp. Snape doesn’t say a word as he places a new eye in front of her. Thursday Harry kisses Ginny at breakfast and she’s not looking at him when she mumbles “Not now.” He defers to her sagacity in not giving the Slytherins one more thing to jeer at, and she almost screams because she’s only looking for Pansy. Pansy, who may well have transferred to Beauxbatons because, after a week of almost-flirtation followed by a week of nothing, Ginny no longer knows anything about her. Friday Ginny tells Harry she has a headache and doesn’t go to Quidditch practise. Saturday she doesn’t make an excuse. Sunday evening Ginny’s drifting toward the Tower, nearly a fortnight since Pansy became the most interesting thing in her life (excepting the diary, which she’d rather forget), when a voice whispers in her ear. “The password is ‘hydrangea.’ My room is first on the left.” And, in spite of everything, Ginny is surprised. Xenophobia Word Count: 100 Ginny pauses just inside the door, half-expecting to hear Snape's malevolent stride coming to ask her any number of questions she can't answer. Then again, she suspects being caught by Snape might prove easier than the alternative. The common room is stark, cold stone bathed in sickly green light; the contrast to Gryffindor couldn't be more obvious. She knows Slytherins aren't reputed for warmth and friendliness, but surely this is a bit much? She approaches the stairs. There's conspicuously nobody around to see her, which is funny because if she trusted Pansy, she wouldn’t have come. Yesterday Word Count: 100 Ginny has been crying for hours with her hair stickily matted to her face. Sixth year is over, everyone’s gone and she’s ready to throw herself at the feet of the next person through the door because in all her imaginings it never happened like this. She never realised too late there were no more chances tomorrow. She didn’t watch everyone graduate and celebrate and forget her entirely. She didn’t sit alone on the long train ride home. Pansy didn’t leave with Draco and Harry with Ron, walking away with a deliberateness that clearly said they were never coming back. Zenith Word Count: 200 (Comment on this)