.~.

December, 1997

The ice ball hit her in the side with all the power of a magic fist behind it.

Ginny gasped and fell to the ground, the pain so intense it stole her breath. She hung onto her wand by some miracle, but unfortunately didn't have time to fire back any sort of equal volley, as she was too busy gritting her teeth and trying not to cry like a baby. Had the attack broken a rib or two? Sure as hell felt it!

Besides, she wouldn't know who to send crying to the Hospital Wing when she'd finished with them, as the little turd seemed to have run off.

So much for Moody's defensive and offensive training this past summer. It did her no good whatsoever when she'd been in her head considering things and not paying attention to her surroundings.

'Constant vigilance' was right.

Fuck, that hurt!

Rolling over to get up was an exercise in pain, and she just knew there would be the start of some pretty impressive bruising if she were to pull her shirt up and take a look. No need though, as she'd had these kinds of hits from Quaffles and Bludgers, and was well-familiar by now with the routine of gimping to Madam Pomfrey for a fix'er up.

Gasping in pain by the time she'd hobbled up to the fourth floor, she had little energy left for taking in her surroundings. It was the Hospital Wing; how much could it have changed from the last time she'd been there just a few days prior, thanks to a particularly cruel D.A.D.A. lesson. All she cared about was there was an empty cot for her to collapse into, and she headed for it, mindless of who else was there to witness her humiliation.

"Got you too, I see," Zabini called from where he lay in a bed, the healer fussing over him. She had a corner of his shirt up and was plastering some Bruise Paste over a particularly ugly purple spot. "It's Peeves. He's decided everyone's the enemy again."

"Little blighter," she growled and took a seat where Madam Pomfrey indicated, in the bed directly across from the Slytherin. "No loyalty whatsoever."

The healer didn't verbalize her agreement, but it was there in the look she threw Ginny. Clearly, the witch had been hoping the poltergeist's reign of terror would remain fixated on the Death Eaters, especially as he had absolutely no qualms about singing his disdain for 'Moldy Voldy' at the top of his lungs throughout the school, even during lesson times.

Chaos was a fickle beast, it seemed.

"Any news on whether or not we're allowed to go home for Christmas hols?" she asked the elderly witch while awaiting her turn.

The woman's expressions said it all: they were all waiting for the 'high and mighty' Dark Lord to make up his evil, little mind. He hadn't taken well to the news of her, Neville, and Luna's rebellion when they'd reopened Dumbledore's Army in November and had grafitti'd that fact all over the school, even going so far as to declaring a recruitment effort. He could just decide to cancel Christmas on top of everything else.

"Grinchy pox," she cursed and mock spat on the ground to make her disdain of their 'leadership' known.

Madam Pomfrey's nod was one of solidarity.

It was funny how no one said anything overtly critical of the current regime anymore. She supposed they didn't need to, though, as the sideways glances and twisted mouths and clenched jaws spoke volume enough. In fact, there were entirely new, inventively creative levels of communication going on inside the castle these days. Some whispers were heard only when the recipient drank a certain potion. Scribbled notes would appear in the margins of specific books in the library on certain nights, and then disappear just as quickly as they'd been read, fading into oblivion. Ghosts popped up randomly through walls to pass on messages from one House to another. Even the plants in the greenhouses could be convinced to unfurl their leaves and hide within them items considered forbidden by the rules, for they disliked the changes going on around them, too. It seemed everyone had upped their espionage skills since Dolores Umbridge had walked the halls of Hogwarts.

Apparently living under 'the Pink Menace' two years prior had prepared most of the student body now for the terrorizing by the adults in their world.

It was ironic how that horrid experience had set the groundwork for the rebellion, really.

"There, all done, Mister Zabini," the healer said, giving her wand a flourishing final wave to ensure he was as set as she could make him. "Now, I want you to lie here until the end of classes today, to ensure the bone sets properly."

Read: I don't want the Carrows seeing your injured status as an opportunity for target practice.

She withdrew a bottle of Skele-Gro from her medicine bag and measured out a thimbleful of the liquid. Shoving it in Zabini's face, she bade him open his mouth.

"Take this."

As a fellow Quidditch player, the Slytherin had been to the Hospital Wing as many a time as Ginny for bone repair, and was quite familiar with the ghastly taste and effects of the potion. He made a face, but did as requested by the old nurse. Then, as she withdrew to come to Ginny's side, he leaned back in his cot and stared at her.

"I'm going to need you to remove your shirt," Poppy commanded, and began setting up a magical curtain for privacy. When she was done, someone came in through the front door of the wing. They didn't announce themselves, and instantly, the old healer went stiff and alert. "I'll be back," she said, with a steady hand on Ginny's head, and then she turned and crept through the curtain to greet her newest arrival.

Ginny noted the nurse shut the door to the infirmary off from the receiving room, clearly expecting a conversation she didn't want the students to overhead.

It must be serious.

As Ginny undressed with a painful grunt, Zabini laughed. He sounded dazed, as the medicine began to kick in and lull him into a healing sleep.

"Pink bra or red today, Weasley?"

"Blue, actually," she lied around a hiss of pain as she got one sleeve off. Sweat had broken out on her forehead and above her lip from the effort. "Knickers don't match, though."

"They green?" he asked, and there was a note of hope in his voice.

"Black," she said just to be contrary. Her intimates ensemble was actually all white today.

To her surprise, he made a humming noise of approval.

"You'd look wicked in all black," he said, voice fading. The medicine was taking him under, finally. "Black leather boots and a whip in your hand."

He was out a second later, as evidenced by his snoring.

Ginny tried not to laugh, as it hurt something fierce, but his imagination really was quite hilarious. Her, one of those sado-maso witchy women she'd seen in one of Percy's naughty stash of mags that he kept under his mattress? The idea was absolutely silly.

…And intriguing.

Of course, she'd have to have had sex more than just the one time…and then she'd have to work her way up to it with loads of practice. Couldn't start out knowing everything there was to know about the lifestyle just by reading about it, regardless of what Hermione believed. Experience was the best teacher for such things. Where did one go to learn how to wield a flogger anyway, she wondered? Where would you even buy such items?

The thought alone was enough to make her giggle.

Here she was, injured and in pain, and Zabini had distracted her enough to ignore the sharp bite in her side in favour of fantasizing about being an Amazon queen with a bondage and leather fetish. Hilarious.

"I'm wearing all white today, git," she whispered fondly at him, knowing he couldn't hear.

Madam Pomfrey came back a few minutes later to work on her injury and to pass on the message from McGonagall that Luna had gone missing. Everyone in the Order was worried the Dark Lord had taken her.

She didn't need to actually say that last part aloud, though. Ginny could read it as clear as day in the terror reflected in the old woman's eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED...