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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
ELEMENTAL

~by The Labris~

CHAPTER SEVEN:

Metaphysical Transmission

Can�t Swim

�She will know now, Albus.�

A sigh. �Yes.�

�What will you do?�

�Now?�

A nod.

�I�ve heard the truth is highly effective, Alastor.�

�And when she asks of her mother?�

A silence.

�Alastor, Molly was able to save Jeannette but at a high
cost. I don�t know if the Molly we know will ever make it back. She
has entered ��

�No!�

A sigh. �Yes. It is
unfortunate. But she managed to save Jeannette from that place.�

�One Dreamweaver Queen for a Dreamweaver
Attendant? She should have left Jeannette in the Remnants.�

�Molly was a Gryffindor. She did what she did because
Jeannette was so young. Jeannette is still young, still has enough room
to improve to at least Princess among Dreamweavers.�

A long silence.

�But Albus...what if...�

�The young one isn�t ready yet, Alastor.�

�But if you had a teacher for her, maybe the original
Dreamweaver. The Weasley is a strong girl; she could reach her.�

�Molly could not.�

�Her daughter is stronger than she. Maybe she is
stronger already. Don�t tell me you haven�t felt it. Just on the
edge of your senses...that light brush on your mind. She encompasses
everyone, Albus, everyone.�

A nod. �She could yet be a
Dreamweaver Princess, but she would have to find Dorothea first.�

�Yes, she would have to find Dorothea first.�

A long silence.

�What will we do about the Potter boy, Albus?�

�He will have to stay ignorant of this.�

�His mind is still young, Albus. The adolescent mind
isn�t ready for Obliviation. Especially in the amounts you give
him. But if we had a Priestess, she could easily filter his dreams...�

�And when the Remnants claim her because she is too
young? Or what about when the dreams become too much?
What happens when she can�t find Dorothea? Molly won�t even be able to
help her soon. She needs to be guided.�

�Which is exactly why she needs to see
Dorothea, Albus. That exact reason.�

A sigh. �I have a feeling
Dorothea will find her, Alastor. Did you ever know her to say no to a
challenge? Especially a challenge to her abilities?
I think Miss Weasley will be getting a visitor in the next few weeks.
Especially if she keeps at her practice like she has. I dreamt of
Evangeline last night. I haven�t dreamt of her for nearly fifty years,
Alastor.�

�She�s protecting herself.�

�She�s too powerful, so when she�s protecting herself, she
protects everyone else. Alastor, it�s magnificent.�

�And slightly scary.�

�Yes.�

All Right

Pacing dreamily on the warm carpet of Inverted Tower, Ginny
let herself be happy. Through the West Window a small, slightly cool
breeze stirred. She would see Draco in a very short time. Holiday
had ended, and it was the first Wednesday Ginny got to see him. She knew
she would live for Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays.

She hugged herself and smiled a sleepy smile as she sat down
at the East Window, closing all the windows with her wand as she sighed.
All she needed now was him. As she smiled to herself, the door opened,
and Draco leaned casually in the doorway, his hands in his slacks as he looked
at her.

Ginny swallowed and watched him as he walked over to her,
his gait casual and slow like a predator as he came to a stop by the
seat. He pulled her up slowly, his eyes raking her over and fingers
playing lightly on her bare arms.

�I missed you,� he whispered.

Ginny smiled, leaning into him.

They had a lot to talk about.

Mon Petite Garcon, Part II

Draco sighed. When he sat on the window seat, Ginny
leaned against his chest like this, looking out the panes of glass on the
peacefully shimmering lake, it almost made him stop
breathing. Her fingers drew intricate designs on the tops of his knees
and thighs, her eyes on the lake but her attention on him. Draco looked
passively at the moon, his hand creeping to Ginny�s stomach and resting there.

�There was something I wanted to tell you,� she said
quietly, her voice sure and her breathing light.

�Hmm��

�I saw you in my dreams,� she said in a low voice, her eyes
closing for a moment. �I saw you and your mother. But in those
days, I didn�t remember. I have the memory now though.�

�What did you see?� he asked, almost afraid what the answer
might be. He knew she saw other people�s dreams; she had told him in the
diary. His dreams were dark though, not for her to see, not for anyone to
see.

�You were young, ten maybe. You didn�t have a
wand. And you were sitting alone in your room. It was a very cold
room. Your mother was passed out in the corner; she�d taken some sort of
depressant. Your father came in and said something, I don�t really
remember what. But it made your mother angry. He hit her then, and
you healed her.�

Draco held back a snort. He had that dream
often. Mostly because it happened often.
Not since he had got his wand though, not for years. Well, not while he
was home at least.

So instead he sighed, twirling a bit of her hair in his
fingers. �Yes.�

�And the one where you fought back.�
She said it as though it were very simple, yet very serious. �And the ones where you lost.�

�I never beat him,� Draco replied.

Ginny seemed to consider this. �In a way, you beat him
more every day.� She looked up at him solemnly. �You want nothing
more than to not be like him, and he wants nothing more than for you to be his
mirror. Every day you rebel, you win a bit more.�

Draco swallowed. �Yes.�

Thor�s Hammer�

Ginny snorted. It was a Saturday. She loathed
Saturdays. Mostly because Saturdays were Quidditch
days. She hadn�t gone to the game (which had been Ravenclaw vs.
Hufflepuff) and instead had spent the day in bed, her head lapsing into the
deep thudding that had been haunting her for days.

It was as if someone wanted to break into her head using a
sledge hammer. Ginny groaned as the thudding continued. In a few
minutes she was going to have to fly to the bathroom and puke again. She
knew it.

And what a surprise when it happened.

Lying back down on the cool, white sheets, Ginny sighed,
tossing the damp cloth on her forehead. If only someone would perform a
lobotomy...

�Dreamweaver...�

Ginny groaned. Not the voice again. She pressed
her hands to her ears and almost screamed. The voice had come to her
Friday evening after class. She had dismissed it as her head playing
tricks with her. Then it came with a gentle scratching, like a person in
a dark alley trying to find the lock to put their key. Then the voice
came with a light tickle. Then a solid knock.
And now a hammer on the anvil. She wanted to
die...or kill someone.

�Dreamweaver...�

�Shut up!� Ginny screeched, her
hand over her ears as she buried her face in her hands. �Leave me
alone!� She shook with anger and fear and fatigue. All night and
all day the voice and the slamming! A few more knocks and she would be
done; there was no way around it. She was going to die from this.
She was going to have a brain aneurysm and die.

�Oh, shut up!� a cold voice said moodily. �You�re not
going to have a brain aneurysm, and you�re not going do die, Dreamweaver.�

Ginny almost fainted. Merciful gods, the voice was
talking to her.

�Now listen to me, you little shit,� the voice
snarled. �You�re going to open your inner conscious right now, or I�m
going to break down what�s left of your bleeding walls!�

Ginny weakly surrendered; a whoosh of a shadow entering her
inner mind was all she caught of the intruder. Ginny laughed madly, tears
welling in her eyes. She had someone in her mind. This was more fun
than Christmas! Closing her eyes, she surrendered,
a smile on her lips as she descended into the inner part of her consciousness,
intent on meeting this invading force.

�It would have been so much easier if you would have just
let me in!� the person grumbled as she rummaged through her thoughts.
Ginny was almost sure the person was a woman. It was obvious that she was
upset. �But no, you had to go and change the keys. You�re a tangled
one, aren�t you? No organization!�

�Excuse me, ma�am,� Ginny said politely, or as politely as
she could. �But can I help you? You see, this is my mind you�re
rummaging through. I�m quite sane right now, but if you keep throwing
things about like that, I�ll be a vegetable.�

The voice snapped at her. �Well, if you had the
organization of a packrat, I�d not be dealing with it like this. Now
stand back; I think I�ve found it.�

A black-lit crystal shone in Ginny�s inner eye. She
had to shade her eyes from the violent light.

�Now this is much better,� the voice said, becoming stronger
and more physical.

Ginny looked around; the black crystal was looming over her,
lighting things oddly and casting dark shadows on her mind. But looking
down, Ginny saw that she was very solid.

�It�s your metaphysical form,� the woman in front of her
explained, her green eyes flashing dangerously. �Or in
other words, how your mind sees you.�

The woman looked at her sharply, her moony-green eyes flying
over her appearance. Ginny was observing the woman too. She was
short, shorter than Ginny at least, and had black on black hair. Though
age had colored a large chunk in the front of her hair white and fine lines
touched her eyes and mouth, the rest of her body seemed un-ravished by
age. Her gentle grace and pale skin contrasted with the black dress she
wore and black, long, tightly curled hair. Her eyes were the oddest part
of her, pale, almost silvery, but with a green tint.

�You must be the newest Dreamweaver; only an idiot would
have denied access to me. You must have no idea who I am. Didn�t
your mother ever tell you who I was?� The woman looked upset and
flustered.

Ginny just shook her head. �My mother never got the
chance to tell me what I was in person. She had a mission.�

The woman snorted. �Is that so? Well then, why
don�t you tell me what your name is, little Dreamweaver, and why it took me
forty-eight bloody hours to crack through your outer walls?�

Ginny frowned. Who was this person, un-introduced and
intruding in her mind, to tell her what to do? Sighing and rolling her
eyes, Ginny crossed her arms defensively. �My name is Ginny
Weasley. And I don�t know what an outer wall is, much less how to break
it.�

The woman glared at her. �Your name is Ginny?
Surely that is short for something.�

�Ginevra,� Ginny ground out. �And who are you?
Why don�t we add what you�re doing here, too?�

�I,� the woman said, straightening up and appearing taller
than she actually was, �am Dorothea Polenin, the High Priestess of the
Dreamweavers.�

Ginny sniffed and looked at her blankly.

�Well, I never!� Dorothea said
angrily, her apparent temper flaring. �First you lock me out of your
mind, and now you don�t even show proper respect! What is the world
coming to?�

Ginny frowned and looked at the woman again. �Why don�t you explain it to me, ma�am?�

The woman harrumphed, and a wooden tea table appeared out of
nowhere, two seats and a full tea set accompanying it. Dorothea motioned
from Ginny to sit, and cautiously, she did. Dorothea poured the tea into
two cups and began drinking from one of them. She studied Ginny with
tight, single-minded focus and finally spoke.

�As I said, I�m Dorothea Polenin, the High Priestess of the
Dreamweavers. You do know what a Dreamweaver is, don�t you?�

Ginny nodded, taking a sip of tea, and frowned.

�Oh, for heaven�s sake, child,� Dorothea said, �the tea is
just an illusion, go with it. But as I was saying.
At least you know what you are. Who are your parents? Well, the
women of the Dreamweaver line.�

�My mother, Molly, her maiden name was Prewett. And then her mother, Eva, by the maiden name of Jones.
After them, I don�t know.�

The woman seemed to consider this. �Molly Prewett and
Eva Jones... Hmm, no wonder you�re strong. And when did you start having
the dreams?�

�What sort of dreams?� Ginny asked quietly. �I�ve
always dreamed, as long as I can remember.�

Dorothea frowned over her tea as she took another sip.
�When did you discover you weren�t dreaming your own dreams?�

�I found out a few months ago. I figured out that I�d
been doing it since close to when I turned fifteen,� Ginny admitted.

�And how old are you now?� Dorothea asked,
her voice deceptively low.

�I�ll be sixteen June the third.�

Dorothea dropped her tea. A look of
shock on her face, her mind seeming to go a thousand miles an hour.
She took a deep breath, and the mended cup of tea was in her hand again, a
frown on her face.

�Dumbledore is the headmaster at Hogwarts?� When Ginny
nodded, Dorothea mimicked her and said, �I will need to have a meeting with him
again. Tell me, Ginevra Weasley, when you were a child, did you go to
your mother when you had your bad dreams?�

�Yes.�

�And did it work?�

Ginny paused. �It did a lot of the time. But
sometimes...well, after my second year, I stopped bothering her about it.
I was a big girl then; I didn�t need my mother to protect me. Why?�

�Because your mother is the strongest
Dreamweaver Queen in the world right now. Because you may be even
stronger if you are trained; you could become a Dreamweaver Priestess. Because Molly Prewett is trapped in the Remnants. And
because you may be the only Dreamweaver powerful enough to bring her back.�

Ginny froze. �What are the Remnants?�

Dorothea sighed, closing her eyes. �The Remnants is
the place where Broken Dreams are sent when you wake up and the rest of the
dream fades away. When a Dreamweaver is broken, her mind destroyed, her
mind is sent there. Her body remains, but she is insane, seeing Broken
Dreams and visions unfulfilled.�

�How did my mother get in the Remnants?� she asked quietly.

Dorothea took another sip of tea, appearing to consider
this. �A young Dreamweaver Attendant, Jeannette Livingston, went too deep
into a trance, and her mind veered off course. She dove, unsuspecting,
into a Broken Dream and was thrown into the Remnants. Molly Prewett saved
her, but she was caught in a particularly powerful Broken Dream and trapped
there.�

Ginny�s eyes filled with tears as she looked at a
sympathetic Dorothea. �Can you save her, Dorothea? Can you?� Ginny
asked softly, her voice hitching.

Dorothea looked away. �I can�t. I�m not...I�m
not powerful enough to retrieve her or even save myself. No one has ever
been that deep in the Remnants and been saved before. We would both be
caught in the Remnants until our bodies died and after.�

Ginny sniffed, looking up at the black jewel lighting the
metaphysical tea table. �What is that?�

Dorothea seemed to relax. �That is your power.
Dreamweavers carry a certain power over their gift; it distinguishes them from
other Dreamweavers. Everyone has the same ability, same amount of ability
to catch and make dreams. But the amount of control you have over it is
determined by how dark your inner power is, how much
power you have over the darkness. As you can see, yours is black.
Mine is a very dark purple but not black. Your mother�s is a dark
ruby-red.� She snorted. �Jeannette Livingston was barely pink.�

�Can I save my mother?�

Dorothea frowned, looking again up at the crystal.
�Yes.�

�Will you teach me?�

�That�s why I�m here, Ginevra,� she snapped. The she
sighed and looked at Ginny with something odd in her eyes. �I must leave
now. But I will come to you in your dreams.�

Ginny licked her lips and stood when Dorothea did.
�Thank you, Dorothea. Thank you so much.�

�Don�t thank me yet,� Dorothea snapped, standing
proud. �And stop using that stupid dream catcher. Even Eva Jones
couldn�t make a dream catcher strong enough to hold off your dreams. She
was a Ruby Dreamcatcher Queen, but she can�t stop your dreams.�

Ginny nodded. And more quickly than she could have
expected, her world was swirling into a vortex and spitting her out into her
bedroom. She groaned, pulling herself up into her bed. Though her
head ached like no other, there wasn�t the insistent pounding. After she
drank some pain relief brew, she fell fast asleep.

Question of L(ove)oyalty

Draco frowned as he looked over his shoulder at Pansy
Parkinson. Just because he�d avoided her all winter break, she was
following him around like a dog. Draco smirked at his own little
pun. She was a dog; she had the nose to prove it. And it didn�t
help that Millicent Bulstrode was accompanying her. Millicent was
practically a man and, to tell the truth, made Draco rather uncomfortable.

So he ditched them around a corner that was invisible to the
naked eye. He loved that corner. He loved the school, so many
hiding places Filch didn�t even know about. He could make it from the
dungeons to Astronomy Tower in less than three minutes via three staircases and
a left turn if he timed it right. But right now, he was headed for the
Owlery.

His mother had promised to owl him soon with the latest
information. Draco cringed when he entered the small, dank room. It
smelt like nothing else. So hurriedly he tied a letter to Helene�s foot,
and she hooted, taking off at a speedy pace, her silver tipped wings shimmering
in the distance.

Sighing, he made it back to his room and leaned back in his
bed. It had been a long week, and soon he was going to see Ginny
again. She was due in the Tower in not fifteen minutes. And because
he loved her so very much, he regretted their relationship not being public.

Contrary to common belief, Slytherins didn�t like sneaking
around, not unless it was unavoidable. There were more chances to get
caught if he sneaked around all the time. He was good, but every
Slytherin knew that the chances of never getting caught were worse than
Chudley�s chances at the cup. He had to sneak around all the time at home
and at school; the chances of getting caught were pretty damn good.

So Draco did what any good Slytherin would do, he covered
his damn tracks. Feeding false information to his father and the other
Slytherins had made them think he was a bit on the sick side. He was able
to �sleep� longer than normal and �recover� from whatever he had.

But Draco wasn�t sick, unless love was a disease.

It made him sick that he had to say those things he said to
Ginny. He had to keep up appearances though, reinforce that they weren�t
friendly, that they hated each other. Draco had to work very hard at
believing the hurt look in Ginny�s eyes wasn�t real, that it was forged in the
name of keeping their secret.

It made him sick to hear her say things about him. She
told them to Zabini, that damn poof who thought he was so damn high and
mighty. She told them to the Creevey boy who Draco really didn�t hate
much but, because he got more of Ginny�s time than Draco did, was especially
unkind to. And she told them to Potty, her brother, and that Granger
bitch. That was the worst. Knowing how she felt about them and
knowing she pretended to like them and hate him.

Why would she do all this?

He asked it of himself over and over. He didn�t really
know. He didn�t really know how he deserved his Ginny. Everything
that made him a Slytherin and a Malfoy told him to drop her like a hot
flobberworm. Then everything that made him a man told him to hold her and
protect her and tell her every day how much he needed and thought about and � dare
he say � loved her?

So he, naturally, had talked to his mother about it.

She was much more helpful than anything else he could have
done. Draco had taken her out to an expensive dinner in a London
wizarding restaurant when he�d got back from meeting Writer. She listened
for a long time, eating slowly from her plate and listening to the
violin. Then finally she had set her napkin on the table and had asked
him something quietly.

�Do you love her, this Ginny of yours? Will she stay
with you, no matter what? Will she help you and be loyal?�

Draco had considered this for a long while. He had
leaned close to his mother, putting a Silencing Charm around their booth.
�Yes, Mother, I do. And she�s a Gryffindor, Mother; she is loyal.�

His mother�s eyes had gone all cloudy and distant, as if she
was remembering something from a very long time ago. Her napkin went to
her mouth, and a slight sob came from her lips. It was barely audible to
Draco, barely noticeable. Her face cleared fast, becoming neutral.

�Good. Very good,� she whispered, a small smile on her
face as she fingered her blue jewel.

Draco had studied her, but it was in vain. She was
completely blocked from him. He hadn�t pressed her; he hadn�t even asked
her about it. Instead, he�d paid the check, gone out and bought her a
nice diamond bracelet and asked her to wear it for him.

Draco sighed, contemplating his mother�s reaction
again. He rolled off his bed and made his way to Inverted Tower.
Ginny would be waiting for him by now. He didn�t want her to worry.
So placing an intricate Locking Charm on his door, he headed down his secret
passageway to Inverted Tower, placing different Locking Charms on every door he
went through. Yes, he was paranoid, but he�d rather be paranoid and
living than stupid and dead.

Upon reaching the tower, he took off his invisibility
shroud, an upgrade of the invisibility cloak as it had many, many different
accessories, pockets, abilities, etc. He hung it on the back of the door
and entered.

At first he had to shield his eyes from the light. But
his eyes adjusted, and he saw that the fireplace between North and South
Windows was blazing uncontrollably. Sitting in front of it was
Ginny. She wasn�t facing it; she was facing him. Her eyes were
dead, no pupil, only that terrifying bronze color that sparked in the
light. Her hand was palm up and open, and she
was looking at something in the middle of it.

�Ginny,� he said carefully.

He knew what had happened to the Weasel, her brother, when
he got her angry. He got burned. If Pomfrey wasn�t as proficient as
she was, he would probably be dead. And right now, looking into Ginny�s
eyes, he could see anger, but hopefully not at him.

�Ginny,� he repeated slowly, taking a cautious step in her
direction. His hands were visible, and his pace steady as he walked
towards her.

�It�s me, Ginny. It�s Draco. Calm down.
Come back here. To me, Ginny, to me.�

Her head tilted to the side in exhaustion, and then she straightened.
Draco�s eyes widened as he saw what was in her hand. Levitating inches
above her palm was a ball, not too big, but also not that small, of
flame. As soon as it appeared, it disappeared. The fireplace
practically went out, and Ginny fell to the ground, her eyes rolling
back. She coughed but stayed unconscious.

�Ginny!� Draco shouted. He leapt to her, thanking the
gods and whoever else was listening for his quick Quidditch skills. She
was breathing, though barely, and her eyelids were fluttering. It was a
very good sign.

Draco whipped out his wand, creating a Cooling Spell and
casting it on her. She was burning up. Not a surprise really.
Her hair was too hot to touch safely, and her skin was like a hot bath, sweat
pouring off her face. Maybe they were tears.

He sat her up, making her sit by the window as he opened it
and let the fresh, almost spring breeze sooth her skin naturally. The
wind seemed to pick up a bit as he did, and he was thankful himself for the
little chill that entered the wind.

Conjuring up a glass of water, he chilled it and tried to
pour some into Ginny�s mouth. Her lips opened, and after a few sips, her
breathing became normal, and her eyelids began to flutter again. She
moaned, and Draco fought hard not to shake her and yell to never do that
again. But he stayed his tongue and brushed her hair away from her head.

�What...� she mumbled tiredly. �What happened?
Draco? Is that you?�

�Shh,� Draco said calmly. �And just what were you
doing?�

Ginny moaned, trying to sit up. Draco held her down
and forced her to drink some more water.

�I was just practicing � like I always do,� Ginny said in a
whisper interrupted by a yawn. She licked her lips. �And there was
this...this gate thing. And I stepped though it kind of. And I saw
them.�

�Who?� Draco asked quietly.

Ginny yawned, sitting up and facing him. �My...my real parents. The blood of
my blood. The Elements.� A distant
look came into Ginny�s eyes. �They gave me a key...to open the
door. Do you know what I found?�

Draco shook his head but was almost too scared to ask.

�Power,� Ginny whispered. �Lots of
it. And it was mine, inside of me. Like Fire and Wind.�

Draco looked at her blankly. �Did they say anything?�

Ginny looked out the window. �Yes.�

�What?�

�That people deceived people for power.�

Draco froze, his heart beating a thousand kilometers an
hour. Did she know? Did she find out what Lucius wanted him to
do? Maybe if he explained he didn�t want to do it and he wasn�t going
to...

�Enemies are made in the name of it. Civilizations are
built upon it and fall under it. Love is betrayed for it.� Ginny
looked from the window to him. �And that I would be betrayed more than
one time in my life by the people I loved and hated the most.� She
swallowed hard. �And I�m scared of it.�

Draco nodded, opening his arms. Ginny fell into them
lightly and buried her head in his chest. Draco sighed and smoothed her
slightly damp hair. �You won�t do that again, will you?� he asked.
�Go away like that, I mean. Or overwork yourself like that.�

She shook her head, and Draco sighed again.
�Good. Very good.�

Her head popped up. �But I want to show you
something.�

He nodded, smiling. Sometimes she had such childlike
innocence. It was hard for him to remember she was just a year younger
than he. But then sometimes � Draco shivered in delight � sometimes he was
reminded she was all too mature and she liked to do very mature things.

She composed herself, crossing her legs and sitting up
straight in Indian position. She closed her eyes, and Draco caught a look
of the magnificent aura of power she had. It was a silvery, metallic red
color, and it shimmered all over her, making her skin glow and the cracks
between her eyelids shine. Her hand went in front of her, between her
chest and his, palm up and flat.

Then her eyes opened, and they shone with a bronze, almost
terrifying light. Draco tried, unsuccessfully albeit, not to
flinch. The fire danced in her palm, rotating in a tight ball.
Around it there seemed to be whipping currents of wind. Her eyes flashed
back to normal and rolled into the back of her head. The Fire and Wind
dissolved, and she sighed, opening her eyes but looking rather tired.

�See,� she whispered. �The more I practice, the more
control I have. And I won�t hurt people again.�

Draco took one of her hands, holding it in his. �That
wasn�t your fault.�

�But you said �� she began.

�He shouldn�t have been such a prick. Your power was
still vulnerable, young,� he swallowed. �But it wasn�t all
your fault.�

She nodded and then smiled.

Retaining Youreslf, Part I

It was dark. No, it was more than dark. It was
perpetual blackness. More than the darkness scared Molly; the visions
scared her. They were everywhere, waiting in groups until she passed by
them. They would hit her hard and quick, the Broken Dreams. She�d
been told of the place, been warned was more like it. Insanity was the
effect to the body. But to the mind...

Who knew?

All Molly knew was she needed to get out. She kept on moving, trying to find the door, but everything was so big,
so interminable. Everywhere she looked she saw labyrinths of terror and
Broken Dreams. She had been lost in one for...well, she didn�t rightly
know how long. Time was immeasurable here. It could have been
seconds, or it could have been centuries.

She avoided another Broken Dream trap and kept moving, not
sure what was driving her any more. Ginny.
She had to get to Ginny. She had to train her daughter. She had to
bring Dumbledore the information.

But where to go?

There was no way of telling. Go left? Go
right? Both led to pain and perhaps death. She didn�t even know her
left from right anymore. Up and down had no presence.
Inside the vacuum, nothing made sense. In the vacuum, nothing was
moldable. Usually she could make dreams to escape into. But here,
in the godforsaken hellhole she found herself, she only had to work with Broken
Dreams. Broken dreams weren�t substance; they were lies.

Molly shivered, sending out a thought into the abyss.

Ginny...

Aspects of Life

Ginny shivered as though someone had walked over her
grave. She could have sworn someone said her name. She looked at
the clock on the wall. Transfiguration was almost out. It was
her last class before spring holiday started. Ginny inhaled deeply and
sighed. Spring break. She would do doubt
be receiving more dreams from Dorothea.

Dorothea was a harsh taskmaster...or mistress,
as it were�but she knew her stuff. Ginny felt confident and was
getting better sleep because of her ability to shield and filter. Those
were her weak points compared to building.

Building was wonderful.

There was no rush like feeling the threads of conscious
slipping through her fingers and weaving around people�s minds. The sheer
exhilaration of the colors and the feels and sounds and tastes and the fact
that she had control over it was intoxicating. She could send anything to
anyone. She could even make dreams so real people thought that they
actually happened. It was hard because of all the different aspects of
real life (temperature, air density, gravity, clouds, wind, other people,
voices, etc.), but she was even better at it than Dorothea now.

She learned that was some of what her mother was doing,
dream manipulation. But also, in people�s dreams, when asked something,
people would answer. Or at least usually. It was a dream, and if it
felt like a dream, they would dizzily go on with the vision. Dreamweavers
could make them forget it actually happened. It was dangerous, but they
could send it to the Remnants, make the dreamer wake before they finished the
dream.

It was all hard work, but Ginny liked it. She loved
it. And she was good at it. Soon, she reminded herself, soon, she
would be good enough to save her mother.

The Bodyguard�

�Albus Dumbledore.�

He smiled, turning from his phoenix and facing his
visitor. She hadn�t aged a day. Her skin was still pure as
moonlight and her hair dark as night. Though there was a white lock of
hair in the front of her head, Dumbledore knew better than to assume it was
from age. She still stood tall and proud, despite her height, and still
had the most luminescent green eyes he�d ever seen.

�Dorothea Polenin,� Dumbledore said, rising and walking
around his desk to pull back a seat for his guest, taking her outstretched hand
and kissing it gentlemanly. �It�s been ages, Dorothea, ages.�

�Yes,� she said mildly, sitting in her chair, brushing back
her tightly-curled hair with a heavily-ringed hand. She favored him with
a smile and continued. �As you must know, I�m here about Ginevra
Weasley.�

Dumbledore, now seated opposite Dorothea at his desk, nodded
and offered her tea. She accepted and waited patiently. Her thin
fingers itched slightly, betraying her real impatience.

�I have to say she is very talented,� Dumbledore said after
a while. �For a long time, without any training, she was shielding the
whole school from bad dreams. She fed good dreams to us all; I even
dreamt of Evangeline.�

Dorothea�s face was a mask until Evangeline came up.
She frowned into her tea. �You know we all miss her, Albus. The
Coven grieves her as much as you.�

�Thank you, Dorothea. Even after all this time, it
still means something to me that the Coven grieves. But,� he said,
tactfully changing the conversation, �you came to talk about Miss Weasley.�

Dorothea nodded, setting down her tea gracefully and
settling her hands in her lap. �Yes. I would like to take her for
her spring holiday. I cannot instruct her through her conscious
anymore. The training is good and hands on, but it leaves her options limited.
I wish to take her to St. Petersburg with me for the week.�

Dumbledore steepled his hands in front of him, looking over
his half-moon lenses at her. Dorothea didn�t flinch; she didn�t even
break eye contact.

�Under one condition,� Dumbledore said finally.

Dorothea raised an eyebrow. �A condition,� Dorothea
said mildly. Dumbledore could sense the fury beneath it. �Well
then, out with it.�

�I want you to bring an Auror with you, the best we
have. You need extra protection in St. Petersburg, Dorothea. You
need Alastor Moody.�

Dorothea stiffened automatically, her face turning five
shades whiter white and her tea moving slowly back town to the table. She
settled shaking hands in her lap and licked her lips. She blinked once,
twice and then set her mouth in a small frown. �Albus, are you sure that
is wise?�

�And why shouldn�t it be?� he asked in an amused tone.

Dorothea mumbled something like, �Oh, yes, you old
badger, play ignorant now,� and rolled her eyes, color coming back to her
face. �I see. Is that the only way I�ll be taking Ginevra to Russia
this spring?�

Dumbledore nodded gravely. After a tense moment,
Dorothea nodded her head tersely and said quite primly, �Very well. It
was nice visiting with you, Albus.�

Dumbledore rose, taking her hand when she stood and walking
her to the door. �It is always a pleasure to see you, Dorothea. We
should have tea more often; I�ve been reading the most wonderful dream
interpretation books lately.�

Dorothea nodded imperiously. �Perhaps. Send my
regards to young Minerva. Tell her the Coven misses her deeply, and she
should visit us in Selene soon.�

�I will,� Dumbledore assured her as she left, her stride
slow and purposeful. And when she was out of hearing, he murmured again, �I
will.�

He sighed, sitting again at his desk, intent on calling an
old friend. The Floo powder went in the fireplace, and a mere whisper of
a name brought the head of Alastor Moody into view. His scarred face
appeared in the hearth, and Dumbledore smiled. �Alastor! I have
good news!�

Alastor frowned. �Indeed.�

It only made Dumbledore smile wider. �Oh, yes. A
mission in fact. You will be going to Russia for the spring, St.
Petersburg actually.�

�Is that so?� Alastor grumbled, his electric blue eye
shooting about Dumbledore�s office. �And I don�t suppose you are going to
tell me the mission.�

�Bodyguard for Ginevra Weasley and Dorothea Polenin.
Ginevra will be staying over holiday with her.�

Dumbledore watched as both of Alastor�s eyes focused on him,
the same pale color coming to his face as came to Dorothea�s. Though, to
his credit, he recovered faster. �No.�

�Oh, yes,� Dumbledore said with a smile. �You will be
escorting Miss Weasley to the Polenin Mansion outside of St. Petersburg and
staying there with them for the week of spring recess. You will escort
them back and then return to your duties.�

�There isn�t anyone else?� Alastor said a bit too hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head. �I�m afraid not.�

Alastor sighed. �Fine.� He paused for a long
time. �She was just here, wasn�t she?�

Dumbledore nodded.

�How was she?�

Dumbledore smiled. �Ask her for yourself; you�ll see
her in forty-eight hours.�

Alastor snorted and blinked out of the fire. Leaning
back in his seat, Dumbledore reflected that everything was going on plan.
In a little less than a week, Molly Weasley should be out of the Remnants, and
Operation Dreamland would be able to continue. A smile graced his face.
Yes, everything would work out.

Parting Is Such...Sorrow�

Draco paced his room, the letter he was holding burning a
hole in his hand. He frowned as he tossed it on his bed. From his
father, typically, asking for updates. Asking for news, for victory, for
control and success. How did one go about telling one�s father (who was,
of course, the right hand man of the most feared tyrant since Grindelwald) that
one didn�t want to be a Death Eater anymore? Well, telling would be easy
enough. Living though, now that would be a problem.

Draco growled, picking up the letter again and re-reading
it, making sure he wasn�t mistaking anything.

Draco �

Since you are nearing
the end of your sixth year, our master has requested a meeting with us.
You will be attending; make no mistake.

I have made necessary
arrangements with the school board, relating our demands for a private tutor to
educate you for the remaining days of school. You will be going to
Norway, the Netherlands, and possibly Sweden, so pack warm.

You will be returning
to school in your seventh year.

You have no
choice. I will pick you up at the school tonight.

� Lucius

Draco threw the letter in the fire, watching it burn.
That bastard. He still controlled his life. He still made the
decisions. He still could make him do whatever he wanted. He could
still make his life a living hell.

Growling, he began throwing things into his trunk. How
was he going to explain things to Ginny? He was sure she would
understand. She had to. And if she didn�t, he would have to explain
it to her. His father controlled him through his mother. Lucius
only had to mention the prospect of Draco�s mother�s wellbeing, and Draco had
to roll over. After all his mother had done for him, Draco had to protect
her.

After everything conceivable was packed into his trunk,
Draco got a spare quill and parchment and settled at his desk, chewing on the
quill for a moment.

My dearest Writer,

I regret to inform you
that I have been called to duty. I cannot tell you where or what sort of
duty, so excuse the shortness of this message.

I will not be
returning to Hogwarts for the remainder of the year. In fact, I will be
abroad with a tutor. Certain things have come up, and though we cannot
communicate this summer, I will see you the first of September in my seventh
year.

Be safe, Writer, you
are all I have. Practice, but not too hard. You will be able to
spend some more time with your other friends now. I ask you not to
contact me unless it is extremely important.

I�m sorry again for
the brevity.

With all my heart,

Reader

Draco read over it and nodded, sliding it in a thick
envelope and hurrying to Inverted Tower. Out of breath and still angry,
he placed it on the North Window.

That was until he noticed a pale envelope sitting on the
window. A seal of thick, red wax closed it, and �Reader� was written in
scrawling handwriting that could only be Ginny�s. It smelled of
her. Draco smiled briefly before tucking it into his shirt and leaving
the tower, closing the doors after him. He would have to read it when he
was safe.

Doing a sweeping check of his materials, Draco left,
charming his trunk to follow him as he went down the stairs. It was late
on Friday night; most people in his House were packing to go home. A few
that had finished were congregating near the fire, talking loudly. Draco
caught Quidditch and something about a Gryffindor and moved on.

�Draco, darling!� Pansy said cheerfully. Draco tried
not to groan as he turned around and stared the fat little bitch down.
�Where are you going, Draco, dear? It�s too early to bring your things
down to the hall.�

�Unfortunately,� Draco said in a tired voice, �my father has
arranged for the rest of my sixth year studies to be abroad. I will have
a private tutor for the rest of my education this year. I will be coming
back next year, however.�

�But, Draco, baby,� Pansy whined. Draco wanted to kill
her when she put her filthy, Parkinson hands on his arm. �What about
tonight?�

Heads turned. Voices stopped. Draco�s jaw
clenched, and he grabbed Pansy roughly by the arm and hauled her into the hall,
slamming her against the wall. She �eeped,� her eyes growing wide with
fear as Draco moved very close to her face, looming over her. Her eyes
began to tear.

�D-d-draco, baby, you�re hurting me!� she cried, tears
running down her face.

Draco froze. He let go of her roughly, and she hit the
floor, shaking. His face grew cold, and he crossed his arms. �If
you ever do that again, Parkinson, I�ll make sure you wish you never
lived. I�m not even going to touch you; I�m going to make you suffer
though. Don�t act like you own me, and don�t act like you�ve been in my
bed. If I ever hear anyone even insinuating that, I�ll fulfill my
promise. Don�t ever forget that. Do you understand me, Parkinson?�

She nodded weakly, her arms bringing her legs to her chest.

Draco sneered, calling his trunk to him, and he kept walking
until he reached the Hall and went out the front doors. He frowned when
he saw three figures in the dark, all standing by a carriage. It couldn�t
be his father; his father was never early.

He looked closer and saw it was Dumbledore and Moody.
Not surprising. Draco had learned from his father that the two had gone
to Hogwarts together and were childhood friends. Draco snorted and
studied the third person.

They turned.

�Ginny,� he whispered.

She said something to Dumbledore then climbed into the
carriage; Moody went in after her with a sarcastic salute to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore watched the carriage go off, and Draco saw him cast something on
it. Draco frowned. What the hell was going on?

His mind wandered to the letter, and his hand went to his
heart where a pocket held it. Where was she going? What was
Dumbledore setting up? And why?

�Ah, Mr. Malfoy,� Dumbledore said amiably.

Draco stiffened. And how the hell did Dumbledore do
that? �Headmaster,� Draco said curiously.

Dumbledore smiled a friendly smile and looked out at the
moon. His glasses reflected the light, and Draco found it slightly
unnerving. �I am truly sorry to see you go, Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully,
you will return next year.�

�I was planning to, Headmaster, sir,� Draco replied, looking
at the moon as well.

Dumbledore sighed. �I think we will all miss her,�
Dumbledore said lightly.

�Who?�

�Oh, Miss Weasley. She is headed to St. Petersburg,�
Dumbledore said, casting a sidelong glance at Draco. Then he turned to
Draco, facing him so that Draco could see his eyes. �You know, Mr.
Malfoy, forgiveness, when asked from the right person, can be much easier to
obtain than permission.�

�Is that so, Headmaster?� Draco said, trying not to let the
hope he felt drip into his voice.

�Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy. As it turns out, I�m most adept
to listening to pleas for it. In fact, usually a plea isn�t even needed
or wanted. Just the admission.�

Draco swallowed. �Why are you telling me this,
Headmaster?�

Dumbledore shrugged. �I don�t rightly know. Some
people call my rambling problem a symptom of old age. Others claim it�s
always been there and it is caused by improper amounts of blood reaching my
brain. I rather think I just don�t know when to stop talking. Good
night, Mr. Malfoy. I do hope you look forward to your place as Head Boy
next year.�

Draco watched with a blank expression as Dumbledore entered
the brightly lit hallway and disappeared into the warm castle.

�Draco.�

Draco sighed. It was his father. A silent goodbye to
the castle was all he had time to do.

�Thor�s Hammer � The Norse god Thor, son of Odin, had a
magical hammer called Mj��llnir that would always strike his foes and return to
him when thrown. He also had a magical belt called Megingiord that would
double his strength if worn.

�The Bodyguard � a movie starting Whitney Houston and Kevin
Kostner (Costner?)

�Parting Is Such�Sorrow � reference to Juliet�s line in
Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2, �Good night, good night! Parting is such
sweet sorrow!�

CHRONOLOGY:
I read Order of the Phoenix like
seven times, trying to decide what I was going to do about my story. I�ve
decided that from this chapter on, all of it will be in line with Order except
the fact that Draco�s dad was put in Azkaban at the end of book five. As
of this point, Sirius is dead. I�m sorry; I loved him, too.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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