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Elemental	By : AngelaBlythe Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 3286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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ELEMENTAL

~by The Labris~

CHAPTER FOUR:

Of Answers

The Trouble with Memories, Part I

Masking her face with feigned happiness, she came and sat
next to Colin and Dean. They were talking about something or another; she
wasn�t really listening. She ate sparingly, the memories of the night
before springing to life with every person she saw.

She remembered dreaming about Colin. He was getting
into an art university, and a lot of people wanted him to sign
autographs. She looked at her brother and remembered he was going to ask
Hermione to marry him under a full moon. She looked at Harry and found
memories of darkness; the two men appeared, broken up by visions of people who
could only be his parents. Green flashes and screams interrupted the
fragile vision, and she turned away to Parvati Patil. A supermodel looking like her walked down a
ramp. She looked away from her and found her eyes locked with the
sharpest Mercurian eyes. The boy. The
jewel. The mother. The tears. The wind. The cane.
The fear. The blood. It all came rushing back, looking into the
eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Ginny stood sharply, earning a glance from Colin. Her
head felt like it was splitting and spinning into an alternative
universe. Everywhere she looked, she found memories. She clutched
her hair, her breath becoming quick.

�Ginny?�

The voice sounded like it was through cottony gauze.
Everything looked odd; it was shadowed and unclear, fuzzy. Ginny
staggered away from the bench, her head spinning faster and faster.

�Ginny?�

It was her brother. Hermione...married...red
hair...kids...

�Ginny? What�s wrong?�

It could only be Harry. Darkness...Voldemort...green...mother...curse...Avada Kedavra...death...

�Ginny?�

Colin again. School...art...love...gentle...painting...art...

Ginny finally looked up at the morning ceiling. She
clasped her hands over her ears and sank to her knees. Everything was so
fuzzy...

Then she went black.

The Whisper of Spies

�It finally happened, Albus.�

�Yes.�

�How is she?�

�She will survive. I fear the dreams were very
strong. Molly may have not done an easy thing by giving her Eva�s dream
catcher. I know she felt like she was helping, but it piled the dreams on
and on until it became too much. I�m actually surprised she lasted so
long.�

�You always said she was strong.�

�And yet I worry for her, Alastor.
I wonder how her Elemental powers will react with her Dreamweaver skills.�

�Fire and dreams are very closely linked, as Wind and dreams
are. I don�t think that we have to worry about a bad reaction. Had
it been Water or Earth and dreams I would have worried, Albus.�

�I would have too. Do you think that is what made the
metamorphosis go faster? It is supposed to occur at her sixteenth
birthday, and she is yet fifteen.�

�I would say that is a safe guess. Have you told Molly,
yet? Arthur?�

�I invited them for tea tomorrow, Tuesday.�

A sigh. �She will want to take the girl home.�

�Yes.�

�You must not let her. I�ve been hearing whispers from
my spies, well, before Gosphord was killed.
They found him out; I�ll never know how. He was killed not too long ago,
had you heard?�

�No. That is a blow indeed. Have they found
Severus out yet?�

�No, he is safe. But what I heard from Gosphord before he was killed was disturbing. It
seems as though Voldemort is looking for an
heir. One of his own flesh.�

�Can he do that, Alastor?�

A shrug and snort. �He�s not human enough in my
opinion, but he may yet find a way. I heard he wanted to do it the
all-natural way. That must mean he has a woman in mind. I don�t
think he�ll choose just any woman either. She�ll have to be strong,
strong enough to carry his offspring. And she�ll have to be powerful.�

�This isn�t good, Alastor.�

�I know it.�

A silence.

�You don�t think...Albus, she�s
just a girl!�

�Like that would matter to Voldemort,
Alastor. She is powerful, Elemental, and,
though I doubt he knows it, a powerful, or soon to be powerful,
Dreamweaver. Alastor, she�s perfect. In a
year or so, she�ll be ready to accept his seed. Then...well, then he�ll
probably try to capture her.�

�That�s sick, Albus. Sick!�

�I know, Alastor.�

A silence.

�Will you tell her?�

�Who?�

�Molly, Ginevra, Minerva, take
your pick. Minerva will be damned before you place more charms around the
girl than you already have without knowing why. She�ll want an
explanation as much as Molly will. And though I think it would be cruel to
say we suspect Ginevra of being a candidate for Voldemort�s �Reproduction Campaign,� you have to tell her
something. Albus, you have to tell them.
You have to warn them.�

A long silence.

�Yes. Yes, I will, Alastor.
How much to say is always the question.�

�How much is always the
question, Albus. Always.�

Tea Isn�t Too Much Trouble

Ginny awoke from a deep sleep, her head pounding and her
stomach growling ferociously. It was light in the room, white sheets and
white curtains, stone walls and stone floors. It was kind of cold, but
her blanket made it tolerable. Just then, the bustling nurse, Madam Pomfrey, came bursting out of her office and hurried to
Ginny�s side, popping a thermometer in her mouth before humming and sighing.

�Oh, you gave us all a scare, little Weasley,�
she sighed. Reading the dial, she hummed again and began brewing a
potion. �Oh yes, you did. Been asleep for three days. Oh, and
the Headmaster wants to see you; he�s been in here every day. You�ve got
some flowers and such, foolish things really. How are those blasted
Burning Bootie�s Beans or whatnot going to get a young girl well?�

Madam Pomfrey fretted and talked
endlessly, Ginny feeling a bit disoriented. Asleep? For days?
Her? She frowned, looking out the window at the rising sun. She
pulled her blankets to her and glanced at the foot of her bed. There were
flowers and cards from her friends, chocolate, eaten, presumably by Ron.
She crawled to the end of her bed as Madam Pomfrey
busied herself.

There was a card from Hermione, a card from Harry.
There was candy from Ron. Blaise had sent a new
poem to her, something, on a brief look, that appeared to be about dying alone
in the rain. Colin and Dean had given her some nice cartoon sketches.
Ginny smiled at the little gifts.

�Now drink this,� Madam Pomfrey
commanded. �Go on, then.�

Ginny drank it, though it tasted awful, and leaned back in
her bed.

�The headmaster wants your presence in his study,� Madam Pomfrey continued. �So take a shower here, and I�ll
have the elves bring up some of your clothes. And I�ll send up some food,
though heavens know Albus will probably just fill you
with sweets anyway. What goes through that man�s head...�

The nurse left, showing her the showers. Ginny washed
up quickly, helping herself to a Chocolate Frog before her meal came. She
still wasn�t sure why she was there. She figured she must have passed out
in the Great Hall after... after... whatever had happened to her.

What had happened to her?

The last thing she remembered was...lots of memories.
Not hers. Dreams. But not hers. This made Ginny frown
deeper. She needed some questions answered. But then, she supposed,
that was what Dumbledore was for.

So after checking out with Pomfrey,
she made her way to the headmaster�s office, remembering where it was from her
first year. It took her a couple of tries to figure out the password, but
she got it, and she climbed up the winding staircase. She climbed right
into the headmaster�s office, Dumbledore himself sitting at his desk, a peacock
quill in hand, and his spectacles shining happily.

�Ah, Miss Weasley,� he said
kindly. �Please sit. Tea? Lemon drop? I daresay Madam Pomfrey has fed you.�

�Yes, Headmaster. And tea, if it isn�t too much
trouble,� Ginny said quietly. �Though I think I�d rather like an
explanation, or at least some small questions answered.�

�Of course, of course,� Dumbledore said, his blue eyes
making him look chipper as usual. �I suspected you would have quite a few
questions.� Ginny nodded, taking the tea he conjured and sipping it
politely. �Now please, ask away.�

Ginny sighed, picking her words carefully. �I think I
should start with how I got in the infirmary.�

�Ah, yes. You had an unfortunate accident in the Great
Hall, causing quite a bit of a stir, as I recall, as you passed out.� He
said it as though he were reciting the statistics of a good Quidditch
game. It made Ginny smile.

�I should clarify. Why did I pass out, Headmaster?�

�Now that will take a bit of explaining to answer.
Traditionally, your mother would have told you on your sixteenth birthday, but
it seems you may be the exception to the rule. Your mother, loathe though
she was to do it, has sent you a letter. She was...indisposed.�

Dumbledore handed her a thick, cream colored envelope.
Ginny looked at him for permission to read it, and he nodded. Ginny
opened it, looking over the contents carefully.

Dearest Daughter,

My dear Ginny, I write
you now only because I cannot come to you. I would have, of course,
preferred to tell you in person, but things as they are, I cannot speak of
them. So I apologize in advance if this sounds cold and detached.
Just remember I love you dearly.

In my mother�s side of
the family, the Tuckers, a gift was given to the women born into it. They
were called Dreamweavers, powerful witches who could
manipulate the sleeping state of a human. Their powers extended over the
collective conscious of the entire world, and they were gifted with the sight
and power over dreams. You, my dear daughter, are one of these Dreamweavers. I have known since you were but a child
in my womb. You, little Ginny, have control of the Dreamworld,
a great gift and curse.

The first year or so
is always the worst. I remember mine without any warm thoughts. You
may not sleep well or much. You may not eat properly; you might grow
tired and detached and even temperamental. This all will pass. For
when you gain control over your power, you will be able to create dreams for
people to dream, see other people�s dreams, and send dreams to other people.

It is a great
responsibility to be a Dreamweaver. I know I can trust you to do the
right thing.

I wish that was the
only news that I had to tell you. Unfortunately, your good luck does not
end there. Again, I apologize for not being able to tell you all of this
to your face.

When you were yet a
child in my womb, a great Meeting clashed near our house. I know you know
what a Meeting is, so when I say Fire and Wind, it should surprise you.
Back then, warnings weren�t what they are today, and I was caught in the storm
while looking for Fred and George outside. The Meeting stilled over me,
and I was given the choice of death for me and my children or letting the
Meeting of Fire and Wind alter you, make you a hybrid Elemental. For the
sake of all our lives, I chose for you to become Elemental.

I have never regretted
my decision, as you have always made me so proud and grateful to have such a
daughter as you. I hope Albus Dumbledore can
help you as he helped me. I will not see you for winter break, nor for
spring. Though I cannot tell you why, know this, I will always love you,
no matter what. I believe in you, and I know you are strong. You
will conquer this and come out all the stronger. I love you with all my
soul, and I send happy dreams your way.

Love eternally, your
mother,

Molly Weasley

Ginny looked up at the headmaster, disbelief and awe in her
eyes. She was what? And what? The letter slipped from her
fingers absently as she stared into space. She was only vaguely aware of
the headmaster summoning it and reading it, humming lightly.

�Yes,� Dumbledore said in a business-like tone, �that does
seem to cover it. I�m very sorry she couldn�t tell you in person, though
I know she wanted to. She told me a thousand times that she would, but it
appears she wasn�t quite quick enough. I assume this just adds to the
list of questions you have. In my experience, answers only lead to more
questions.�

Ginny looked at him blankly. �So those weren�t my
dreams. They were other people�s dreams. Dreams I was seeing
because of this...of this gift I
have.�

�Your Dreamweaver�s gift, yes,� Dumbledore said. �And
yes, they were other people�s dreams. Dreamweavers
tend to gather the dreams of those who touch them, who are close and leave
impressions on them.�

�So how do I...I mean...make it stop?� she asked carefully.

�Stop, Miss Weasley?� Dumbledore
questioned. �Well I�m afraid that it doesn�t just stop. It takes
great control of mind and spirit to gain power over your dreams and those of
the people around you. It will take years before you can create a dream
of your own. But then, you are a very powerful Dreamweaver; you could
master is sooner than others. The fact that you are so receptive to
dreams proves that much.�

Ginny was quiet. �Where is my mother? Why can�t
she be here?�

At that, Dumbledore�s face became very grave. �On
that, Miss Weasley, I cannot comment. Rest
assured she is doing something very brave, very brave indeed. Something
that could help witches and wizards anywhere.�

�With her gift?� Ginny asked in a small voice.

All her answer was that of a smile.

Ginny swallowed, looking at her hands. �Headmaster, I
saw some...some terrifying things. I think some of them you need to
know.�

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. �Yes, Miss Weasley?�

Ginny swallowed again, thinking of the dreams she thought
were from Harry. �I�ve seen, I think, what Harry Potter dreams.�

Dumbledore let out a sigh. �Yes, I suspected you
would. Any good Dreamweaver would intercept that boy�s dreams. He
is rather powerful, especially in that area. It comes from his link with Voldemort. It could also come from your link with Voldemort.�

Ginny shook her head. �No, Riddle never knew these
things. He is different from Voldemort.
Different and similar at the same time. Does that make any sense?�

�Yes, Miss Weasley,� Dumbledore
said gravely. �Please continue.�

Ginny licked her lips. �He�s looking for someone, Voldemort. A girl, I think. She�s a student at
Hogwarts. I�m sorry, but I don�t know why he wants her. But there
was one thing I do remember, about a man. His name was Welsh. Voldemort asked his servant, I don�t remember his
name. He is the short one, round and balding. He had a very
distinctive silver arm.�

�That would be Peter Pettigrew,� Dumbledore said. �And
yes, he is alive. And no, Sirius Black did not kill him or Lily or
James. And yes, Harry knows this.�

Ginny blinked her eyes for a moment. �That would
explain a great many things I�ve heard over the years.� Dumbledore smiled
knowingly at this. �Anyway,� Ginny continued, �they were talking about a
man by the name of Duncan Welsh, and how he was loyal to them as a spy.
I�d heard the name before, but I don�t know where.�

Dumbledore sighed. �I had expected this. Duncan
Welsh is � was, now � the Head of the
Department of Mysteries, around the time you were born. He knew of your
status as a Dreamweaver and Elemental and wanted to perform...experiments on
you and your particular magic.�

�Oh,� Ginny said simply.

�Yes,� Dumbledore concurred. �My sentiments exactly.�

A burst at the fire interrupted their chat, and a man Ginny
didn�t recognize came in. He was tall and dark, his nose oddly long, and
his eyes a shade too pale.

�Dumbledore,� he said, �you have to come now.
Jeannette�s gone critical; you�ve got to come now.�

Dumbledore stood, looking at Ginny apologetically. �It
appears my assistance is needed. If you have any more questions, feel
free to come in next Saturday.�

Then he walked through the fire, leaving Ginny alone.
Alone with her thoughts. And her dreams. She could feel them on the
edge of her mind, waiting until sleep became too much so they could take over
her mind. Refusing to sleep was no choice, but she didn�t really know how
to control them. And the whole concept of her being a Dreamweaver ...
well, it was hard to swallow, never mind the bit about her being a hybrid
Elemental. Her mother had always had a way with her bad dreams.
She�d always made them go away; always made the good ones come. But then
she�d gone and got herself caught in a Meeting, and now Ginny was here with too
much on her adolescent mind, and she wanted to explode!

Ginny groaned, standing up and stretching. Well, there
was no time like the present. Maybe a quick stop at Inverted Tower would
do her some good. Her diary needed to be updated anyway.

September 27, 1996

They say that things can only get
better once you hit rock bottom.

I think I�m the designated
exception to that rule. For fun, let�s just throw in every rule ever
because I don�t have enough bad luck. Because let me tell you, I�ve hit
about as low you as you can get, and it isn�t looking any better. I
suppose it could be worse. It could be raining. But right now, it
looks pretty bleak.

I have no idea where my mother is;
she said not to come home for break. I hope she�s not in trouble. I
hope father�s not letting them exploit her power. I doubt they could
force her to do anything, so she�s probably safe. Or as safe as she can
be. I don�t know much; they won�t tell my anything with the exception that
she�s doing something great for The Cause.

Great. Because that clarifies
a whole hell of a lot.

Gods, I�m tired. I�m getting
irritable too, I think. Mum warned me there were a few side effects in
her letter. I never imagined the headaches came with it. I�m not
sleeping because of the dreams. They are always there, lurking behind the
gauze of sleep. I can never shake them. I�ve not tried to sleep
yet; I�ve not had the time.

I just got back from the
headmaster�s office. That�s where he gave me my mother�s letter.
She explained everything in that letter, down to the very last detail. I
still don�t know how to keep the dreams away. And she throws the bomb at
me.

�Ah, old family secret! You
receive other people�s dreams. Oh, and one more thing! While I
carried you in my womb, I got caught in a Meeting. Good luck with your
life, baby!�

She goes from one extreme to the
next. One minute she doesn�t want me to ever

grow up and is giving me dolls for
my birthday, the next she is telling me I have to make my own way in the
world. I�m rather confused.

A lot of things are making me
confused lately. It sucks. I hate using that word. It makes
me sound uneducated. I�m not illiterate; I can be more creative than
that. Well, I take it back; McGonagall doesn�t seem to think I�m
literate. She rejected my newspaper idea. She never was very
creative.

I�ll just stick to poetry, thanks.

But being confused, yeah, I�m
rather confused. Guys bite. I don�t understand! I know, I
know, no names, I promised myself that, but there are too many HEs in the world. A codename, maybe? (At the
risk of sounding like a child, I�m going to continue that fanciful notion of
having the codenames. I�m thinking Stag for I know who, Unforgettable for I
know who, Butterfly for I know who, and Painters � both of them � for I know
who. Yes, that should do it.)

Okay, all I get is brotherliness
from Stag now. One minute he wants to hit on me, the next he wants me
like his sister? What the hell is wrong with him? And
Unforgettable� let�s not even get into that. After I had that dream, it�s
made me look at him differently. I never imagined his life was like
that. His poor mother. I�m not sure I pity him, but then I rather
don�t think he�d appreciate pity. Actually, I know he wouldn�t.
Butterfly has gone crazy. He won�t stop chasing after that guy, that
seventh year in our class. Painters want me to come in again and pose for
some other thing. I�ve found I actually like it; I�m not uncomfortable at
least. They wanted to know if they could bring another next time, some
seventh year. I said okay.

But seriously, I need to get
moving. Sleep calls. That horrible Black Death they call
sleep. I hate it. I wish I had insomnia. Yeah, insomnia would
be nice�

Eureka!

Draco almost dropped the
diary. She was the Elemental he was looking for! She said it
herself. She was the Elemental he was looking for, Voldemort
was looking for. It was almost too easy. All he had to do was wait
in the Tower for her to come, and he could get her to fall in love with
him. Then he could deliver to her to Voldemort,
and all his problems would be solved. For a little while, at any rate.

But there was something more. What was that bit about
dreams? What did she mean she could �receive other people�s
dreams�? He would have to do some research in that area. And her
mother? Who was she? What skill was going to �help The Cause�?
And all those boys...he didn�t think he really wanted to know. Did they
all fancy her? Did she fancy all of them? One sounded gay, so that
couldn�t be it. Draco reflected that he didn�t necessarily want to delve
too deeply into it.

He placed the diary on the seat and looked out the
window. Who was she? It was really getting to him. Draco
prided himself that he was a pretty good judge of people, that he knew their
attitudes. He would be able to tell if the diary belonged to say
Pansy...or Granger...or Millicent. Or just about anyone. He always
thought he knew people, or could at least judge their reactions to things.

This woman though! Draco found that he kind of did
want to know her. If the way she wrote was any insight to her
personality, what she was really like, then he would have no problem getting
her to love him. But the thing was: would he be able to stop himself from
developing emotions, too?

No. He wasn�t going to fall in love with her.
That was preposterous. But even he
felt things. He enjoyed being around people...very few people. It
actually just extended to his mother. And for some reason Snape. But other than that, he really only could
stand this diary girl. He didn�t even know her, and he could already tell
she was a person he could talk to. It scared him a little. He
didn�t want attachment. He didn�t want feelings. And he certainly
didn�t want love.

Getting her to fall in love with
him shouldn�t be a problem though. Unless she already hated him, it
should be cake. From what he gathered, she was fifteen, a fifth year, and
most likely a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. He
thought Gryffindor personally, but he had to keep his eyes open.

Because Sometimes It Hurts, Part I

It wasn�t fair. Ginny had decided that much. It
wasn�t fair at all. She couldn�t sleep. No matter how much she
tried, she could not sleep! It was infuriating, and it was bringing back
her temper. Her temper, usually gentle, flared when she was tired,
hungry, or sad. Right now she was tired and slightly depressed.
This wasn�t a good combination, not for her and certainly not for the people
around her.

She had already snapped at Ron � rather unjustly, too.
She had gotten upset when he told her she looked like she could use some more
sleep. And a bit more to eat. She couldn�t rightly tell him about
being a Dreamweaver; she just couldn�t. And being an Elemental?
Well, that was out. So, she yelled at him.

Then Harry had looked at her oddly, and she shot a remark
like, �What are you looking at? Don�t you have a world to save or
something?�

She felt kind of bad about that one. So when she
yelled at Colin in the common room for no apparent reason at all, she had
started crying. Colin had taken her into his room after shooing all the
other fifth year boys out. That was where she was, crying into his chest
as he awkwardly patted her on the back.

�I don�t understand it, Col,� she said in a choked voice,
hanging onto his slightly damp shirt pathetically.

�Understand what?� he said calmly.

�All the dreams! What do they mean? I can�t
stand it! And they won�t let me sleep! I start, and then the dreams
come, and I don�t,� she sobbed uselessly into his chest. �What should I
do, Colin?�

�Madam Pomfrey could give you some
Dreamless Sleep, couldn�t she?� he said helpfully. �She always helps
people who have problems. And, Gin, I hate to say it, but you�ve got a
few of those.�

This only succeeded in making Ginny cry harder, gripping
onto Colin securely and throwing him back on his bed.

�Ginny,� he said solemnly. �I think you need to get up
now.�

Ginny looked up at him, very confused. �Oh. Is
it...no, I know what it is. You don�t even want to touch me.
Gods! I must be truly repulsive! I�m sorry, I�ll go...�

�Ginny.� His voice was pleading now. But Ginny
sat up, sniffing and wiping tears from her cheeks. �Ginny,� he repeated
softly, �that wasn�t it...�

Ginny looked at him, hurt. He was gazing at her with
soft eyes. He looked sorry, but Ginny was still hurt. �Then
why? Because I don�t understand,� Ginny whispered. �Why doesn�t
anyone want me around? No one ��

But she was stopped by insistent lips on her own.
Taken by surprise, her eyes flew open, and she flew back. Colin landed on
her, his tongue searching out hers deftly. His hands went to her hair as
his lips pressed tightly to hers.

And just as suddenly as he started, he stopped. He
pulled back quickly, shock written on his face, along with a touch of
fear. His hands went to his mouth, his eyes wide open. �Ginny,� he
whispered. �Oh, gods, Gin, I�m so sorry!�

Ginny looked at him, her eyes getting ready to water
again. She scrambled to a sitting position and bolted from the bed,
staring at Colin with wide eyes. She couldn�t decide whether to be
betrayed or surprised or flattered. She was so damn confused, and he was
making it worse!

�Ginny,� Colin said, a bit more calmly. He got up from
the bed and ran a hand through his hair nervously, rubbing the back of his
neck. �Please let me explain.�

Ginny nodded. �I think you should,� she whispered
lowly.

Colin rolled his head and paced in front of her. Then
he stopped and looked her in the eye. �Ginny? Do you know how
beautiful you are?�

Ginny looked at him doubtfully, frowning. �Yeah,
right, Colin.�

�Ginny, I�m serious! Do you know that you are possibly
the most beautiful woman most guys will ever see? And it isn�t just your
face or your body. It�s something inside of you. It�s some...some
fire, something. And it�s deep.� He ran a skittish hand through his
hair again.

�I don�t understand,� Ginny said quietly. �If I�m so
beautiful, why do guys stay away from me like the plague?�

Colin sighed. �One reason is your brother. I
think most guys could get beyond that, but the other reason is you scare them.�

Ginny blinked her eyes.

�You just look powerful. It�s in your aura or
something,� Colin explained. �There�s something basic and beautiful about
your image, like something out of a � and I hate to say this �
dream. You look like a goddess. A fire goddess or something!
I can�t explain it. But why do you think Dean and I wanted to paint
you? We could have asked Lavender or Parvati or
any of a few dozen girls from this school. Why you?�

�I was the only gullible one,� Ginny spat.

�No,� Colin said softly. �We wanted to see if one of
us could capture that aura of yours on canvas. That�s why we wanted Devon
to come next time, to see if he could do it.�

Ginny frowned, but Colin continued. �You don�t realize
what you do to Dean, do you?�

Ginny shook her head.

�Ginny, he�s gay. But he sees you, and he says he
would stop if he could have you for a girlfriend. How do you stop being
gay? It�s rather illogical if you think about it.�

�Are you gay?� Ginny asked carefully.

Colin shook his head dismissively. �No. I don�t
think I ever will be either. I like girls too much. But you�ve got
Dean so confused he can�t think straight... or maybe that�s the problem.�

Ginny giggled a bit at Colin�s stupid joke.

�Ginny,� Colin said quietly, �are you angry with me?�

�No,� Ginny answered after a pause. �I�m still a
little confused, but not angry. Not at you, at any rate.�

Colin sighed. �That�s good.� He paused for a
moment. �So does this mean you�ll pose for us next Friday?�

Ginny sniffed and smiled. �Okay.� Then she
sighed and looked at the clock. �It�s almost time for dinner. And
the weekend�s over; I know I�ve got some homework that needs to be done
tomorrow.�

�How about you clean up and I�ll meet you downstairs for
dinner? You can sit with Dean and me; it�ll be like a big, happy family,�
Colin said, slipping on his jacket.

Ginny snorted and agreed, making her way to the
showers. Colin had explained a few things, but as she reflected, sitting
on the tiled floor of her shower stall, he had only caused more questions to
arise. She tilted her face up to catch some hot water and sighed.

Could the �basic power� Colin described to her be her
Elemental power? If so, she really needed to gain some control over
it. She needed to gain control over her Dreamweaver power, too.
Ginny sighed again, getting out of the steaming shower and looking at herself
in a full length mirror.

She didn�t look like a goddess. Well, she didn�t feel
like one at least. Sure, she had a good body; her hips were a good shape,
as were her breasts, but she didn�t think she was particularly stunning.
Her hair was almost too red, bordering on blood. And her eyes were a
creepy shade of bronze, almost unearthly. It made her look like some sort
of feral beast. Especially with the veins of gold� Her skin was
pale, almost too pale. And opposed to her earlier years, she had
virtually no freckles. She was almost too skinny.

Ginny sighed, stopping her external examination before she
got too depressed, and got dressed, meeting Colin down in the Great Hall for
dinner. Dean smiled at her, and she smiled back. She would give
anything for her life to be normal. As it was, two out of her three best
friends were gay, and all of them were guys. She didn�t have a very good
track record there.

She needed someone she could really depend on, someone she
could really be friends with. Someone she could love. She wanted to
love someone and be loved back. She didn�t care what Colin said; if guys
thought she was hot, why didn�t she have a boyfriend? Why did she just
have a bunch of gay guys and one guy that only wanted to be her friend?

She sighed, pushing the chicken around her plate
irritably. She didn�t even notice when Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat next
to her, looking worried as they glanced at her. She didn�t care.
She stood, walked out of the hall, and right to her room, right into Inverted
Tower, and right to her diary.

That was when she noticed something. The diary wasn�t
where she left it. Actually, the diary was on the opposite side of the
couch than it was usually. She knew because she always threw it at her
feet after she finished normalizing the handwriting, making it look like the
dictating quills. It was where she normally sat while writing. She
opened it cautiously, flipping to the latest entry date, the twenty-seventh of
September.

Frowning, she looked at the page. The corner was
slightly creased, which wouldn�t have been so abnormal, but there were large,
dirty finger spots on the page. Ginny put her forefinger in one and
frowned again. It was much too big to be her. Flipping through the
pages, she saw a few other pages were dotted with finger marks.

Someone had been reading her diary. Someone kind of
dirty.

She dropped the book, backing away from it. Her
private thoughts, her innermost desires were in that book. Someone had
rifted though it and read her mind. True, there were no names, but she
had done that just in case someone had read it. She wasn�t totally prepared
for her reaction when someone actually did. It was an intrusion of her
thoughts, of her space. Her jaw trembled. She�d been betrayed one
too many times that day. First Colin, though she had forgiven him, and
now this...

But, something made her stop. Someone had been reading
her thoughts, true. Someone had intruded upon her innermost knowledge and
opinions, sure. How exactly was this bad? This person knew things
about her she had never even uttered. This person had to understand her,
if even just a little. Maybe she could talk to this person. They�d
read her thoughts; they knew her. They knew her better than any person
she�d even talked to or seen. Better than her mother, better than
Charlie, better than Colin, better than Blaise.
There were things in that diary she�d never told a soul, and this person knew
it.

Ginny sighed, picking the book back up and setting it in her
lap as she sat on the North Window seat. She tickled the end of the quill
under her nose, thinking about what she would say to this person. She
would have to be articulate, try not to sound angry, and be, if possible,
friendly. No, friendly wasn�t her. Well, she was friendly, but it
wasn�t inbred in her personality.

The quill scratched across the
creamy page.

The Three-Minute Salutation

September 29, 1996

Reader,

The salutation alone on this note
took me three minutes. �Friend� didn�t seem accurate. I don�t even
know your name. �To whom it may concern� would imply that I had no idea
who was going to read it. And while I don�t know your name, I know you
have access to Inverted Tower as I do.

I have come to realize that a
person is reading this journal of mine, and you are probably they. I was
surprised at first, a little hurt that my privacy was being intruded
upon. I moved past that into who you could possibly be. I don�t
know you. I�m no detective, I don�t flatter myself. All I have are
a few turned pages and dirty fingerprints on white paper.

I think, since you know everything
about me, it is only fair that I know something about you. Your name may
be too personal; I�ve found they�re very personal to me. You could tell
me a bit about yourself; I don�t mind if you use this book. It was, after
all, meant to be written in.

Perhaps, if you�re not too
frightened of my overt personality, we could meet in person. Not yet �
no, that wouldn�t do at all. But I think I would like to meet the person
that knows more about me than any other person alive. You have my
sincerest promises that I will not be angry with you. Truth be told, I am
intrigued more than upset.

So like my salutation, my closing
takes me a while to ponder over. I believe I�ve found something
appropriate.

Yours,

Writer

The Modesty of a Thief

Draco closed the book, rubbing his
eyes and blinking a few times. He�d read the entry maybe fifteen
times. Each time he read it, he hit himself mentally. He should
have known to clean the pages. Looking at his fingers, he sighed.
They were dirty from Quidditch practice. He
read it yet again.

She had not concealed her handwriting. She trusted him
already. It was beautiful handwriting, not huge and swirly like most
girls, but elegant and professional. It was a writer�s hand. But
then, she did say she was a poet. It didn�t really surprise him.

What had surprised him was how well she reacted to the
knowledge that someone was reading her diary. He would have been
furious. Draco berated himself for not being a better judge of
character. Of course she wouldn�t be upset. She would be
intrigued. It wasn�t her personality to lash out uncontrollably. It
wasn�t her personality to want to punish the person reading her private
thoughts.

It only made Draco want to meet her more. But he
respected her more when she said she didn�t want to meet him yet. It was
smart, a good move on her part. She wanted to judge him through what he
wrote, how he displayed himself. Something drew him back to what she had
said earlier. It was about how the Japanese had sent poems to the ones they
had interest in. If he wrote back, it would be like he was courting
her. On some level, Draco knew she must know that. And on some
level, Draco didn�t care.

Draco frowned. He wouldn�t reply yet. No, he
would wait a little while, act nonchalant. He berated himself
again. She would see through that. She knew he read it often, not
just once in a while. She would know he was trying to play it cool and
think him like the rest of the slobbering idiots that probably went after
her. He would have to be natural; yes, she could see through phonies just
like he could. But also, he would have to monitor what he said, not lead
her on. She wouldn�t like that either.

The problem was Draco found he did want to lead her
on. But not to just lead her, he wanted to meet her. He wanted to
meet and talk to her more than he had ever wanted something in his life.

Sighing, he took out a quill and began to write.

Writer,

Your designations as Writer and
Reader seemed so appropriate that I decided to use them myself.

I must first apologize, I
think. It is true, I read your journal, and I read it often. I am
captivated by your words and opinions. I even find myself agreeing with
you sometimes.

There are so many things I would
like to say, but I confess I�m not the writer you are, nor am I as
articulate. I�ll try, however.

I would like to meet you, as you
would me, but find that waiting would probably be a better idea. I think
it wise you should get to know me, at least a little. No names, however;
I apologize that I�m not willing to give it away just yet.

So where to start? I don�t
really know. Telling you my life story seems a bit forward, but you
should at least know what has made me the way I am. And who has made
me. We should begin with my father. He is a cold man with little
love for anything but money and power. I detest him to the point of
disgust. He doesn�t like me, and I don�t like him, but we aren�t
malevolent to each other. My mother is the one person I feel I can really
talk to, perhaps with the exception of you. She was always kind to me,
though very, very, very sad. I grew up alone, it would barely have
mattered whether I was an only child or not. I confess to not having very
many friends, nor people that can stand my presence. I also confess to
liking very few people.

I don�t know what else to
write. I have a few questions for you; however, the one that comes to my
mind first is your dreams. You seem to dream a lot and have a talent for
retaining other people�s dreams, if I read correctly. You seem to have
many secrets, but no one to tell them to. I hope you will trust in me.

I leave you with one thing: I will
be waiting rather impatiently for your response.

Sincerely,

Reader

Draco put the diary down on the
window seat, sighing as he slid his quill into his bag. It was rough, but
then he never claimed to be a great writer. He had sounded curious and
sincere. Reflecting, Draco found he had been completely sincere when
writing it. He felt free almost, as if some great pressure was lifted off
his chest.

And the one complete truth was that he was impatient for her
reply.
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