TWO chapters in three days? This must be some kind of record of us.

We think it's because we had so much time on our hands during March Break – since we weren't off vacationing in Cuba or being galvanized by cabana boys. So, because the end of our break is here, it will probably take us longer to write and get the chapters up, but we hope that it's worth the wait.

Thanks to all who have reviewed us – we LOVE your comments.

Bad dreams in the night
You told me I was going to lose the fight,
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering Heights.

Wuthering Heights; Kate Bush

It's So Cold

Day Two

Ginny was wide awake now, practically having jumped out of bed only a minute ago. "This isn't some sick joke of yours is it?"

"Surprisingly, I'm not quite the sadistic bastard you and the other weasels build me up to be." Draco lifted himself out of the cot and began to pace, walking towards her, then away. Aside from the tousled hair, he looked as stoic as usual; no signs of worry or concern were to be seen.

Ginny muffled a cough, and only realized now that the both of them were whispering. But, she was scared now, and nowhere in the room was there sleeping one of her brothers, Harry, Hermione or Luna. The only one who could possibly calm her was pacing back and forth mere inches away from her. She didn't hold her breath. "Listen Malfoy, I think, that...for now, this should stay as... our own little secret." Not that she necessarily thought he would actually lower himself to everyone else's level and talk amongst the group, merely just taking a precaution.

He rolled his eyes but did stop the pacing. He knelt on the ground in front of her, as if proposing. Happily, that was not the case. "I do possess something called tact." It was more of a growl than a reply, each syllable pronounced slowly and purposefully, as if he thought of her as mentally incompetent. Not that she put it past him, but without her wand and her famous bat bogey hex, she let it slide. "Besides, I'm tired, and I'm going to go back to bed and pretend that we never had this conversation."

You and me both, ferret boy. "Well, good," Ginny stressed out lamely. She had been well armed with a snappy comeback had he disagreed with her. But he hadn't. He had thrown her off guard and Ginny swallowed slowly, afraid that he may continue to do so in the future. Why wasn't he just exactly like she had grown up expecting him to be?

Sure, he did have the cruel and cool attitude down-pat, but he was smart and observant. Ginny never thought she'd be giving him credit for actually possessing a brain.

Next time, she thought, she wouldn't allow herself to be thrown off her guard like that. She was readying her arsenal in her mind, so that she would be prepared for whatever he threw at her next. She was going to be well armed and she would go out firing.

"Go to sleep, Weasley. I think it's over." He was referring to the screaming, the terrified wailing that had stopped only five minutes ago. His voice was tired and Ginny, for the first time realized that he too was sick. It was hard to think of him succumbing to the same virus as the rest of them. Ginny sniggered. How common, she thought. How decidedly low for a Malfoy.

Soon, from across the room she heard Malfoy's slow and rhythmic breathing, confirming that he was asleep. And so, there was only her, tossing and turning in her small little cot, even smaller than her bed back at the Burrow. Her throat tightened and tears threatened to spill. She had been avoiding that subject. But still, it was hard now to erase the images of home that flashed through her mind, wondering what everyone was doing, if they missed her at all. She sniffed. No, they don't even realize I'm gone, too busy enjoying their holidays, feasting, wrapping gifts and just enjoying everyone's company. It was all too much, and soon, although not as quietly as she hoped, she was crying into her pillow. It was only then did Ginny notice that someone was up and walking towards her.

"Come on Weasley, 'tis the season to be jolly." That sounded rich coming from him. Malfoy was the type who was never jolly, no matter what the season.

"Go away Malfoy. I wish to be perfectly miserable on my own."

"And under normal conditions, I would happily oblige. However, as much as I would like to revel in your anguish, your little sob fest is cutting into my sleep. So just..." Draco looked down at the small form nestled underneath the covers; head buried deep into the pillow, hair sticking every which way, and muffled sobs shaking the cot. "...calm down." A lame finish but, the time for a round of insults had passed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for disturbing you, Malfoy," Ginny falsely gushed, the effect slightly ruined by the sporadic heaves that littered the spaces in-between each word. "But I'm not some House Elf you can just tell to shut up! If I want to cry, then I will cry!"

As much as she wanted to fire off her usual barrage of insults, Ginny just didn't have the energy. The sickness was taking it's toll on her, leaving her physically exhausted and her homesickness was leaving her mentally fatigued.

"Nobody wants to cry, Weaselette," Draco muttered to her.

It was this place. Much as she tried to imagine she was at home, surrounded by the warmth of her family and all the familiar sights and sounds the Burrow, she couldn't. All she could see in front of her were the cold stone walls. It was her prison, and it wasn't easily forgotten.

Malfoy, staring at Ginny's pathetic form in front of him, was perplexed. What was he to do? He couldn't very well sleep with the annoying racket that was Ginny Weasley's crying. And she certainly didn't show any signs of stopping, as she let out a wail while she face-planted her thin pillow. Maybe he could smother her? That certainly was a viable option.

It was then that Oliver pulled his head out from underneath the covers, looking about the room to see where the noises were coming from. His eyes rested on the two figures across the room, later to be identified as Ginny and Malfoy. Strange, he thought sleepily, those are two people I never imagined having a conversation, especially one without hexes and curses flying every which way.

"Guys, I don't really know why you're talking to each other, even weirder is in the middle of the night," the last bit he grossly exaggerated, "but, some of us are trying to sleep. So, if you guys can manage to tear yourselves away from each other-"

"Easily done." Ginny snapped having noticed the proximity of her body and Malfoy's. Her tears were still wet on her face but, Oliver's intervention allowed for a much needed distraction. "And really Oliver, to think that Malfoy and I were chatting. No, unfortunately the truth is much less unsettling, and Malfoy here was just leaving." She looked over at Wood, as if to validate her excuse only to find him sprawled out in his bed, snoring heavily.

"Do you really find the idea of us having a somewhat civilized talk that disgusting?" Her little fib to Oliver had irked him for some unknown reason. In fact, he had actually been enjoying their banter. It could be quite difficult to have witty repartee with Crabbe and Goyle, especially after a couple of butterbeers.

The look on Weasley's face said it all much too clearly. She was repulsed.

It then hit Draco why it was bothering him. It was the cold, hard slap of rejection. It wasn't that he wanted the frizzy-haired, freckle-faced, red-eyed, snivelling Weasley girl. Not in that sense, at least. It was just that even though he was nothing like she had ever thought him to be, he wasn't even good enough to talk to. Draco had never been not good enough for anything. Or anyone.

He should've been the one disgusted by her. She was a Weasley. A poor, muggle-loving Weasley. While he was a Malfoy. He should've all but ordered her to get to the floor and kiss the ends of his robe. She should've been fluffing his pillow or soothing the creases out of his cheap cotton sheets - not wailing like a Banshee and doing everything possible to keep him from sleeping.

"Good night then, Weasley," he drawled, looking up at her with unreadable eyes. "If they haven't taken you by the morning, I'll be sorely disappointed. The Weasley stench is becoming unbearable."

Her only response was more wailing.

His eyes widened. Unbelievable. Un-be-liev-able! She hadn't even listened to a word he said. Not only was she a) still crying and b) still snivelling, she was now ignoring him. Well Miss. Weasley, I will make sure that you never ignore me again.

And on that note, he stalked off to his cot, which was cold and uncomfortable, and tried to get some sleep. Only images of a small redheaded girl kept distracting him.

The screams from earlier were far from both of their minds for the rest of the evening.

It had been hours since their last interaction, since he had humiliated her and, politely asked her to leave him alone for the rest of their duration, however long it should be. No matter how bored she was, Hermione honoured his request. Out of all of them, she had the most energy, the least amount of symptoms. With that thought she turned over to Cho's cot. It lay there vacant, sheets neatly folded and pressed. She half expected there to be a mint lying on the pillow. She remembered earlier that morning, when she had awoken. The first thing she noticed was Snape, his eyes glued to where Cho used to be, burning with fury. Hermione was able to deduct that quite easily. Clearly she wasn't the only one who had missed the arrival of the ever elusive Reds. It was frightening, she had half expected Snape to have this all figured out by now. But he was just as confused as her, something that troubled Hermione very much.

Hermione couldn't understand her need – the burning desire inside of her – that wanted to see that Reds so badly. She figured that once she saw them, everything, all the missing pieces would fall into

place. Every question that she'd searched and searched her own mind of the answers for, would be revealed. Logically, she knew that wouldn't be what would happen.

Logically, she knew she was terrified. Last night, she'd stared at Cho's cot, wide-eyed for most of the night until she'd eventually drifted off to sleep. Hermione hadn't been afraid that she'd miss them come and go, but afraid to fall asleep. Afraid to be taken. Even now, seeing the empty cot struck a chord in her heart. She felt awful, not feeling scared for Cho, but scared for herself.

And deep, deep down inside her, she was scared to wake up and find her teacher gone. She didn't know if she was capable of facing this all alone.

"Miss Granger?" Snape's query shook her out of her thoughts. "What are your symptoms?"

"Fever, mainly, I think. My entire body feels so hot, it's hard to tell if I'm really burning up or if it's just the way I am. Other than that, some basic flu symptoms and dizziness."

"Dizziness? Are you feeling faint, Miss Granger?"

"Not now, no. But it's getting harder and harder to get out off bed each morning and standing up straight is becoming practically impossible." Hermione didn't know why, but her cheeks began to feel even hotter. She was embarrassed. The idea that Snape might find her weak, a liability to his cause, didn't sit well with Hermione.

"How sick do you think you are?" Something in his tone suggested that he was, for some reason, implying that she wasn't sick as all.

"Very," she replied hotly through gritted teeth.

Shaking his head slightly, his long hair swaying back and forth over his hooded eyes, Snape through his actions, seemed to retract his last question. "What I meant was, how sick are you?"

Hermione stared at him blankly. "Fever, dizziness, flu symptoms...I just finished telling you that. Perhaps memory loss is a new symptom, Professor."

"Again, that's not what I meant. My mind, for some reason, is hazy. I'm having trouble getting across what it is I want to say." He stopped here, almost apologetically, as if he were sorry for confusing her. "Besides your dizziness , which I think is from a severe lack of minerals and vitamins or perhaps low blood pressure, I don't think you're really sick. I think you only think you are. Or rather, I think you're being made to think you are."

"Oh really?" Hermione was dubious, as appealing as the idea was, that this sickness wasn't actually real, she knew how she felt, and her mind certainly was beyond the capability of playing tricks one her. Perhaps, she thought, paranoia is a new symptom. Though, it was hard to tell, Snape had no problem before feeling as though people were out to get him. "So, you think something in our heads is manifesting itself into physical symptoms? Or is it that this plague that went around school is all just mass hysteria?" The idea angered Hermione.

"If only it were so simple Miss Granger." It was a mumble but within the walls which amplify every sound, it was impossible for Hermione not to have picked it up.

"Professor, if you know something that I don't, I really suggest you tell me. You can't just leave me in the dark here, our lives are at stake and you're hardly in a position of power to do so." She paused before continuing. "You have to realize that this isn't your classroom anymore."

"You think I don't know that!" His eyes blazed and Hermione involuntarily leaned back. "I'm without my wand, my books, my potions and now I'm losing my wits. Don't assume I am unaware of my surroundings."

Her jaw dropped open and she felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Snape, who for so long had been as hard as a rock to her, was now crumbling apart in front of her. He was admitting to her all his flaws – that he wasn't in control any longer.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence as both Hermione and Snape allowed each other to regain their composure.

"I feel sick though. I'm coughing and sweating. These are physical. You can't just manipulate the body from the mind like that." Wrapping her head around this idea was difficult. How could he be denying the existence of everything that she felt.

"Physical sensations can be manipulated from the mind like that, though. I could hurt you if I wanted to, using my mind to conquer yours. Make you believe you're bleeding, hurt...dying. I could create the most unimaginable pain inside your head. I could do all that." It was a whisper but it reverberated within her entire body more than any scream or yell had ever done before.

"If it's all in our heads, Professor, what are they treating us for? What are they giving us?"

Snape's eyes darkened and instantly, Hermione knew that's what he'd been thinking to. "That, Miss Granger, is a very, very good question."

"Maybe this sounds like a really stupid idea but, what about escaping from this place?" Though it had been on everyone's minds for a while now, it was only Bill who voiced it aloud. It was only really because Zabini and Zacharias had been at each other's throats for most of the morning. Or whatever time it really was.

"What did you have in mind Weasley? Perhaps, we'll just casually walk out of here? Maybe stop for a chat with theReds? Or is it you've forgotten, we can't apparate everywhere, they've probably got us monitored and, we've got no wands or anything. So, really, enlighten me, how is an escape even possible?"

Bill glowered at Smith. "I was under the impression Hufflepuffs were supposed to be pretty charming people. Guess even the sorting hat can make mistakes." Bill held up his hand in order to silence Zacharias's upcoming barrage of insults. "All I'm suggesting is an escape, I'm offering no explanations of how to or anything but maybe, if we put our heads together, for once, maybe we could come up with something. I'm not asking for much, just a little brainstorming."

"Yeah, that means thinking with your brains rather than your arses." Zabini's remarks were clearly aimed at the blond sitting indignantly in the corner.

Zacharias glowered sulkily for a moment. However, he began to chuckle as a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, I absolutely cannot wait to hear the completely barmy ideas that Loony over there comes up with," he said, tilting his head in the direction of Luna.

Luna paid him no attention. It wasn't that she was deliberately ignoring his remarks, rather that she was too caught up in her own thoughts to realize that he had been talking in the first place. Zacharias watched, amused, from the other side of the room as Luna, deep in thought, comically began tilting her

head back and forth as though weighing the pros and cons of each idea on her own shoulders. She'd then shake her head severely, as though it had been stupid to think that. Then a second later, she'd brighten up again with another idea and repeat the process. Sometimes, she would stroke her chin pensively for dramatic flair.

Though he was cruel to her, and he certainly didn't understand her, Zacharias Smith would be the first to admit that he got a kick out of Luna Lovegood. She was so mesmerizing to watch. Funny too, he smirked. If only he could read her mind sometimes, it'd be pretty cool to see what plans she was formulating now.

Luna however, was busy thinking of how perhaps they could dig a tunnel underground, once outside, steal some broomsticks and wands, and make their getaway. However, there were obstacles to overcome and things to take into account. She played the scenarios in her mind: First, the Reds would give chase, and Luna would be separated from the others, and crash from her broom, plummeting to the ground. Unfortunately, her crash caused major trauma to the head and she became amnesiac. A renegade house elf would find her and take her as ransom in order to meet his demands for higher wages. However the trade goes terribly wrong and she was kidnapped by muggle bandits who took her to the hills of Nepal. There, she would live out her days as a yak herder. No, Luna thought that would never work out. I'd much rather work with Nargals anyway.