A/N: Good grief. This is the story from hell! It never ends! It's like
those scenes in the movies where the heroine is standing at the top of the
stairs, looking down a nice normal corridor when suddenly the camera
perspective changes and the corridor now looks miles long! It just keeps
getting longer! This was supposed to be the end of the story, but it's
like rabbits! It just keeps multiplying! I'm very sorry and I promise (I
think) that the next chapter really is the last in this ridiculously long
and convoluted tale! And apologies to w&mlaw, I stole her name, but I'll
give it back as soon as the chapter is over. And sorry about the cheap
dialect! Next time I'll make the story take place in America where I'll
get the regional dialects right. K
Chapter Fifteen (I think)
The morning air was frigid and cold with mist covering the small clearing. The shapes of several tents of various sizes from two-person to six-person could be seen through the swirls of mist. These tents weren't ordinary tents, though. They were magical. Some had chimneys that gave off fragrant pine smoke; some had double canvas layers to help keep the heat inside. In the early morning light, though, most were dark and silent.
Although no sign of movement could be seen or stir of activity could be heard, one of the tents held a wakeful, restless occupant. Draco Malfoy sat on his hard cot and stared moodily into the small fireplace on the opposite side of his small tent. At least the outside appeared small. Inside, however, there was room for two cots, a desk, a water closet and a fireplace. He was already clothed, but because of the news yesterday and the celebration last night, he knew it would be hours before most of the rest of the camp was ready to rise. He stood and crossed to the fireplace. His long, slender legs were encased in tough bicorn leather pants. Dragon hide boots shod his feet. The warm linen shirt he wore was old but neatly mended and clean. On the bed lay the battle robe he usually wore over his other clothes. He'd spent the last of his allowance money on it after he'd left Hogwarts, but it had been a good investment. It was dark green, of a special lightweight but warm material that had been charmed to repel magical attacks. Though fragile looking, the garment had worn better than most of his small collection of clothing. It looked more like a very long tunic with side slits from the hem to the hip and gave the wearer more freedom of movement, while still providing long sleeves and deep pockets for storing wands and other magical items. Draco found it perfect for the sort of hand-to-hand combat he and his band of freedom fighters had been engaging in for the last three years.
Draco plucked the short knife from the wooden mantelpiece, where he had thrown it moments before. He frowned, remembering when the knife had been plunged into his former friend, Vince Crabbe. Crabbe was still moldering away in some wizard prison for his attack on Virginia Weasley. The Crabbe's apparently weren't rich enough to keep their little darling out of prison. Hell, Draco thought, disgusted, his own father had barely had enough to keep himself out of prison, although Lucius Malfoy's attack on two students at Hogwarts and his attempted use of an unforgivable curse had kept him tied up in the legal system long enough for Draco's mother to hide herself. Draco knew Lucius had not wasted any of his remaining fortune, now sadly depleted, in trying to find his wife, but had poured the remaining Malfoy assets into supporting Voldemort. Voldemort had repaid Lucius' loyalty by sacrificing the man to make good his own escape when Aurors had unexpectedly raided the Malfoy home. Rather than be taken prisoner, Lucius had consumed a deadly poison he had hidden in his robes. Draco's other former friend, Greg Goyle would have ended up in prison for his part in Virginia's abduction if he'd been a threat to anyone. But after consuming an entire pound of the Weasley twin's incendiary candy, Goyle required machines to help him breathe. He lived on a liquid diet because his stomach and intestines had been so severely damaged. Draco understood he was in almost constant pain, and just lay in his bed in his parents' house, waiting for death to finally take him.
He hadn't thought of those two in a while. But the news they'd received yesterday had him thinking about a lot of things he'd tried to forget.
Bill Weasley had written him that the war was officially over. There was still some resistance, and roving bands of renegades who would attack just to cause mayhem. But with the destruction of Voldemort, most of the fighting was over. Draco had been overjoyed to hear it. He was sick of the death and the carnage he'd seen and helped cause. He felt the darkness of the war to his very soul. It was one thing to talk about fighting for a cause, but the reality was the stench of rotting carcasses in the summer heat, the smell of your partner's vomit after the battle was over, the blood that never seemed to wash out of your clothes. The reality was finding frozen corpses on the battle field and living with the fact that you killed people and creatures who had someone (or something) waiting for them, anxious to hear any news on their loved one. The reality was than nothing, NO cause was worth this horrible price!
Draco shook his head and returned to his cot. Bill's letter had been cautiously hopeful on the subject of the war. But then it had turned personal. Draco could see the words in front of him, despite the fact that the letter was now nothing more than ash at the bottom of his fire.
'Well,' it read, 'I've had some interesting news. That git Timmons wrote me. Seems he's asked my sister to marry him. Seems she said a June wedding would be beautiful. I know her medical camp is somewhere near you, so maybe I'll go visit her.'
That was it. In those few brief sentences, Draco died inside. He balanced the knife in his hand, blade first, and with a quick flick of his wrist he sent it flying toward the mantelpiece again, where it stuck, quivering from the impact.
What the hell did he expect, he thought angrily. He hadn't asked her to wait for him, wouldn't have expected it. Hell, he hadn't even spoken to her since he'd left her bedside almost four years ago. Oh, he'd had news of her occasionally from Bill. She had gone to the healer's school. Had even become a medic in record time.
But Draco had never contacted her or tried to see her. And he'd never been able to forget her, either. That was the hell of it. One kiss, a few brief caresses, and now there was no other woman in the world for him. He knew. He'd tried, in a fit of anger at hearing that she'd been seen with some man at dinner somewhere, to seduce and bed one of the young women who were always flirting with him. It had been a fiasco! The woman had been tall, lithe, and brunette. Nothing like Virginia. But at the crucial moment when he was ready to enter the woman's body, he breathed Virginia's name. Naturally, the woman had been livid! She'd stormed out, hugging her clothing to her body and berating him for the stupid bastard he was.
He'd learned. A few more disastrous attempts had taught him that he would get more satisfaction with his own hand, than with a living, breathing female, unless she happened to be Virginia Weasley.
But he still hadn't approached Virginia. Over time, he became more and more convinced that he'd done the right thing to leave, but would she ever forgive him for it? Did she even care? He didn't think of himself as a coward, but he couldn't go to her. He still had nothing to offer her, except himself. He'd had an offer from Bill to join him as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.
"The pay isn't all that great, but the travel is free and you can take your family!" Bill had said. "Besides, you get a share of every treasure you recover, and that's not bad!"
Draco had actually considered it. He wasn't trained to do anything at all, always expecting to inherit his family money and not have to work. He could try to play professional Quidditch, but he didn't love the game; never had. That was probably why Potter had always beaten him. He'd thought that if he took the job with Gringotts, he could save up a bit, then think about a wife and kids, even take care of his mother. But he hadn't heard from his mother for almost two years, and he didn't need to worry about a wife, anymore. Virginia was getting married to someone else.
Draco rose and lifted his hand. The knife was wrenched from the wood and flew back to him. He closed it and put it in his trouser pocket. His hand automatically closed on the other items in the pocket. He withdrew them, feeling his heart clench again. A very battered, torn green ribbon was wrapped around a creased, cracked bit of parchment. Draco unwrapped the ribbon with trembling hands. Carefully unfolding the parchment, he read the words again. This time, though, no smile at her cunning or ingenuity crossed his mouth. Draco traced the faint writing with a slender finger, almost feeling her strong, smooth fingers again.
Biting back an oath, he crumpled the parchment in his hand, determined to burn it, too. It was unimportant. It had no meaning any longer. He strode across to the fire, but couldn't seem to do it. He looked at the little ball of parchment, watching it uncurl in his hand now that he wasn't clenching it tightly. As suddenly as he'd crushed it, he laid it on the mantelpiece and carefully smoothed it again. Then he folded it into a small square and rewrapped the ribbon around it. Slipping it into his pocket, Draco angrily stomped to his bed. He couldn't sleep, so he might as well scout around before everyone else got up.
Draco donned the long, oriental looking, dark green robe, then buckled on his slim sword. He looked at the hollowed out bicorn horn he sometimes used to signal other camps. It could be hung from his belt and didn't really weigh much, but did he really need it? He doubted he would have any trouble; there hadn't been any sign of enemy activity in this area in days. But three years of fighting had taught him to be ready. He picked up the horn and clipped it to his belt. Then, pulling on his fur-lined dragon hide gloves, he left the tent.
The cold November air was crisp and clean, smelling of pine smoke and the sea away to the west. Draco walked about the clearing, looking at the signs of the revelry from last night. Thankfully there were few alcohol bottles. He'd been adamant about that. No drunkenness. If they were unexpectedly attacked while drunk, they'd be slaughtered. To die in battle was one thing, but to be murdered in your bed because you were filthy drunk was unforgivable.
Draco left the clearing and unsheathed his sword. He gave it a few experimental swings, loosening his arm muscles. Might as well practice, he thought. Suddenly he felt a prickle of unease run up his spine. Still swinging the sword, Draco looked and listened carefully. He couldn't see anything to cause his uneasiness. As though it were part of his routine, he gave a few practice jabs with the weapon, then spun and moved the other way. There! In the trees to his left was a slight movement. And another. Draco continued practicing, counting at least seven beings watching him. Human, troll, or other, he didn't know. But there could always be more.
Draco now practiced more enthusiastically, gradually backing toward the camp. He wasn't certain if the watchers were hostile or not, but while he could defend himself against two or three attackers at a time, seven would be too many, especially if there was a powerful magic user in the group. Draco was less than a hundred yards from the camp when the first watcher broke from cover. It was a man, probably in his thirties. The man's eyes were sunken and seemed to burn with a fanatical light. As Draco watched, the man reached in his sleeve and withdrew a wand.
"FOR VOLDEMORT!" he cried, whipping the wand in Draco's direction.
Several other men burst from the trees, also pointing their wands, but they stopped, amazed. Draco was no longer standing before them. The man who had attacked first suddenly slumped to the ground. The others turned around and saw Draco sheathing his sword and pulling out his own wand.
"How did he-," one of them started to ask, but he flew back as Draco hit him with a blast of magic. Then Draco disapparated again, only to appear behind another. He stupefied this one and disapparated again. He'd been lucky so far, by surprising them. But they would soon recover and begin to attack in earnest. He disapparated back to camp, knowing they would head here. Pulling the horn from his belt, he let loose a loud blast. The sound rang in the cold air, and the camp immediately stirred to action.
"We're under attack!" he shouted, placing himself at the head of the path and summoning his bow and arrows from his tent. He threw the quiver of arrows over his shoulder and strung an arrow. He calmly aimed, hearing his mates organizing behind him. Then his focus tightened and he saw and heard nothing but the enemy now rounding the path and running, weapons raised, toward him.
With a zing! the arrow flew straight through the throat of the first attacker. He fell back and tripped the woman directly behind him. Draco drew another arrow from the quiver and strung it, and another man fell. There were many more than he'd thought. At least a dozen men and women were swarming toward him. A spell shot past Draco and hit another of the attackers, freezing the woman on the spot. As she fell, her companions trod on her body, causing more damage than the spell had done. Now the enemy was at the verge of the clearing and Draco threw his bow aside. Drawing his sword, he ran into the fray, heedless of his own safety.
The band of renegades was poorly trained, relying on surprise to defeat their enemy. But, though, they fought with grim determination, causing as much damage as possible, Draco thought the battle might be over quickly. Then he heard a sound that made him shiver. Over the sound of clashing weapons and shouts, Draco heard a slow, rhythmic stomping of heavy feet. Mountain trolls! Draco quickly dispatched the renegade in front of him and looked around. Few of the attackers remained standing, and some of the defenders were also looking around. Mountain trolls were tough, ruthless, and too stupid to quit when they were beaten. They were immune to most magic and didn't have many weak spots. Even as he watched, four huge mountain trolls moved into view. Draco's stomach lurched. This was going to get very ugly, very fast.
Ginny Weasley turned off the hot water and groped for her towel. She wrapped the towel around her head and shrugged into her bathrobe. Ginny had been up all night, having the on-call duty, but she was restless now. Her medical unit had gotten the word that the war was officially over yesterday, and most of the staff had stayed up late celebrating, but, being on duty, she had remained sober. Actually, though there was an allotment of alcohol available for special occasions, few of the medics and healers had indulged. In their line of work, healing someone while drunk could have disastrous results. She sat on the overlarge, padded bench that some enterprising medic had brought back from a scavenging trip to London. The bench was very comfortable and large enough for two adults to share it, as long as the adults were agile and very friendly. Ginny chuckled lightly at the thought, but froze when her mind conjured an image of a long, lean blond twined with her smaller redheaded self.
Damn! Four long years and she still couldn't stop thinking about the son of a bitch! Oh, yes, she'd heard from Professor Dumbledore, from Bill, even from her Mum, that he'd had to go, to become his own person. Bill had told her that Draco had been miserable for months after leaving her. But it had been four years and she hadn't heard a thing from him.
Ginny angrily dragged the towel from her head and began to vigorously dry the short locks. If she had her way, she'd rip his memory out of her mind and the longing for him from her heart. She wasn't a stupid, romantic sixteen-year-old anymore. She was a healer, and a damned good one, too! She was reasonably attractive and could probably easily find a man to care for and to care for her. Hell, that wasn't the problem. In fact, there was one man, older, mature, very handsome, who was asking her to marry him! She liked him and had a great deal of respect for him, but she didn't love him. In fact, while it might have been pleasant to kiss the man, she never had shared more than a friendly peck on the cheek with him. She just couldn't seem to imagine herself becoming physically intimate with him, so she certainly couldn't marry him.
She thought of Eric Timmons, her former teacher, now one of the staff of the small medical unit with her. He'd been supportive in those last miserable days before she left Hogwarts. He'd even written a glowing recommendation and given her his own personal copy of "Treatment of Dark Magical Wounds". And after her schooling, which had been much better than she'd hoped, he had joined her in the small field hospital and was a valued member of the staff.
But one thing had been consistent. His hatred of Draco Malfoy. She had tried to tell him, several times, that Draco had SAVED her, and that she had been partially to blame for what had happened. He wouldn't hear it. In fact the only time she ever argued with Eric was when Draco's name came up.
Ginny finished toweling her hair and sat back on the wide bench. Eric had asked her again, a few days ago. Ginny was becoming very good at avoiding conversations that might lead to his proposing, but he'd snuck it in on her. He'd asked about her brother Percy and his engagement. She'd told him that Percy's fiancé, Pen, wanted a June wedding. Then, she'd stupidly sighed that a June wedding would be beautiful. And he'd asked again. She'd said no; she always said no, but it didn't seem to stop him. She told him she would always love and respect him as a friend, but nothing more. Ginny had never led him on. And this most recent time she had been brutally honest, saying that she couldn't foresee ever consenting. That had stopped him for a short time, but he'd finally smiled and said that she would grow to love him if she'd just give it a chance.
Heaving a great sigh, Ginny thought about the letter she'd received from Bill yesterday. It had confirmed that the war was officially over. He told her that there might still be some renegade bands out to do whatever harm they could, so the medical units weren't being disbanded, yet. And he told her that there were some groups of freedom fighters in her area. In fact, Draco Malfoy's band was only about ten or so miles from her location, and wasn't that interesting? He ended with a warning to keep alert, as the renegades would probably just as happily attack a medical unit as a combat unit.
Ginny had felt a thrill of excitement when she'd read about Draco's unit, but the thrill had faded quickly. He probably knew she was here, but apparently had no desire to see her. She'd heard a lot about him in the last three years. He was tough, exacting, and driven. But he looked out for the people under his command and took care of them. Even though he was one of the youngest wizards or witches to command a unit, his people were fiercely loyal to him. He was growing to be almost as big a hero in his own way as Harry Potter. The sneaking, bullying, spoiled boy she'd known seemed to have really grown up. She shook her head at how strange the world was. She was hopelessly in love with a man she'd hated for years. And the same man, who had seemed to be destined to be one of Voldemort's servants, was one of the enemy's most ferocious foes.
Ginny finally stood and firmly belted the robe around her waist. She couldn't just sit here brooding. They didn't have any patients right now, but that didn't mean there weren't things to do around the camp. She gathered her things and exited the shower room. As she was crossing the clearing from the showers back to the women's sleeping quarters, Ginny felt an uncomfortable prickling feeling down her neck. She looked quickly around, but most of the camp was still asleep. No one was around.
The feeling faded, but Ginny still felt uneasy. In her small cubicle she pulled clean clothing from her trunk and tossed the dirty medical scrubs she'd been wearing into the laundry basket. She pulled on a pair of slim trousers and a knit turtleneck. Then she pulled on a heavy set of robes. She ran a comb through her hair and sat down to pull on her socks and boots. Finished, she decided to see if there was any breakfast ready in the mess tent yet.
The uneasy feeling had faded, but it was still present, in the back of her thoughts. By now a few healers and medics were up and about and she waved to a few people as she passed. Suddenly she froze. She didn't feel uneasy any more, she felt terrified. Something very bad was about to happen! She didn't know what, or where, but it was happening NOW! Her ears filled with the rhythmic stomp of heavy feet and her nose filled with the stench of some horrible creature. The camp disappeared and she saw the vague outline of four huge creatures in her mind's eye. She saw a small group of witches and wizards shooting arrows and spells at them, but they kept coming. The leading creature had five arrows through the neck and finally fell. The next had been hit by what looked like several incendiary spells and ran away in flames, only to collapse in a burst of fire. But that still left two.
They were mountain trolls, Ginny realized, and they were attacking Draco's camp. She didn't know how she knew, but the knowledge was there. The final two trolls were almost on the small human band, but the constant rain of arrows was slowing them slightly. One looked almost on its last legs. Then her perception changed. She was facing one troll, the strongest, all alone! Gods, Draco was taking the beast on himself, drawing it away from the others! Ginny clenched her hands, now totally immersed in the battle. She could hear the cries of the other fighters, but mostly, she heard the heavy breathing of the beast in front of her. It lumbered toward her, it's heavy spear, more a sharpened sapling than a spear, raised. It lunged, thrusting the spear forward, and Ginny gasped as she could almost feel Draco jumping away. Then she saw a sword fly through the air, sticking deep into the beast's neck. Ginny felt a thrill go through her. He defeated the troll!
But the troll wasn't done yet. With its last strength, it hefted the spear and launched it. Ginny shrieked as though she felt the impact. Then she doubled over and fainted.
A small group of people had gathered around Ginny when she finally came to. She couldn't have been out for very long, as no one had thought to summon a litter yet. Ginny sat, wondering what had happened. Then she remembered. Ginny scrambled to her feet, ignoring the hands that reached down to help her.
She looked at the medic directly in front of her.
"Get team one ready, we're going to be busy soon!" she snapped. The young man jumped back, startled, but ran off to rouse all the healers and medics who comprised their emergency response team one.
Then Ginny waited.
Draco had never felt anything like this before. The trolls had taken their toll. All of his team were injured or dead, he wasn't sure which. He'd taken the last troll himself, hoping he might be able to use a combination of his weapons and magic, and draw it away from his own people. They were having enough trouble with the last of the renegades and the wounded troll. He'd been lucky not to be wounded, yet. Drawing the troll away from the camp, Draco made his stand with his back to a large pine. The troll followed him, thrusting at him with the lethal spear. Draco threw weakening spells at him, dodging and blocking. Finally, the giant beast lifted its bony head in frustration and bellowed. Draco said a quick prayer and sent his sword flying at one of the few weak spots on the creature. The sword flew true, but trolls were slow to die. The creature knew it was done for, but used its last strength to thrust the spear at the puny creature who had killed it. The spear caught Draco low in the stomach. The force of the blow drove him back into the pine tree behind him, impaling him and pinning him to the trunk.
Now Draco stood, legs trembling, trying to hold himself up, off of the spear pinning him. It helped to relieve the pain. There was a sudden flutter of wings and Archimedes landed gently on Draco's shoulder. She seemed to feel his pain, for she hooted softly and rubbed his face with her elegant head. He couldn't help giving her a small smile, remembering how she would not leave him when he'd tried to set her free four years ago. A small sound, a groan, let Draco know that some of his people might still be alive.
Looking into the intelligent eyes, Draco gasped, "Get Virginia. Remember Virginia, love? Go get her!"
Archimedes hooted loudly and flapped her wings, then she was off. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that some of his folks might survive. His last thought before he passed out was of brown eyes and red hair. Now he'd never get to tell her how he felt.
Ginny was growing more and more agitated. It had only been about twenty minutes, and the healers and medics were standing by with their supply pouches and brooms ready. But they were eying Ginny questioningly. She bit her lip. She couldn't explain how she knew they'd be needed, but luckily no one questioned her. Then, suddenly, a beautiful owl appeared in the sky. It circled once then zipped down, landing on her shoulder.
"Archimedes!" Ginny cried. "What is it?"
She looked for a message on the owl's leg, but there was nothing. The owl flapped her wings in agitation.
"What? Is it Draco?"
Archimedes settled down and blinked once.
"Is he alone?" Ginny had seen several other people in her vision or whatever it was.
More agitated wing flapping followed.
Ginny was sick with anxiety, but said calmly, "Five?" Flapping. "Ten?" More flapping. "Twenty?" This time the flapping was less vigorous. "Twenty-five?" Archimedes settled down and hooted. "Is everyone injured?"
The owl blinked again. Ginny nodded. "Can we follow you, love, or are you tired?"
The owl seemed t take offense at this. She gave Ginny a small shriek and flapped her wings again.
"Sorry, love. Of course you're not too tired. Right then," she said to her astounded audience. "Mount up and we'll follow Archimedes."
The medical unit followed the owl to a small clearing not too far from their own camp. They were horrified by what they saw, but they went to work immediately. The only way to tell the difference between friend and foe was to check the left forearms. But at the moment, the healers and medics didn't care about that. They triaged the wounded, and got to work. The few who were dead were covered quickly, and the healers moved on to those they could help.
Ginny moved from person to person, healing what she could, dressing wounds, setting fractures, stopping bleeding. But the one she was looking for was nowhere to be seen. She finished tying off the emergency bandage she was working on and looked around. Archimedes was perched on a tree branch nearby.
"Where is Draco," she cried.
The owl launched herself toward one of the paths leading out of the clearing. Ginny grabbed her bag and wand and ran after her. She hadn't gone very far when she felt herself grow pale. Her legs wanted to buckle under her, but she fought off the urge. Draco seemed to be leaning casually against a large pine tree. It was only when you noticed the large spear impaled through his stomach and stuck into the tree that you knew something was wrong. Ginny ran up to him, tears already streaming down her face.
"Oh, lord, Draco, what have you done to yourself now!" she whispered helplessly.
She was shocked when his eyelids fluttered. "V-virginia?" he asked, then coughed, blood dribbling down his lips.
Ginny shoved her fear and concern aside. She was a professional, and her tears wouldn't help him right now.
"Just shut up. I'm going to get you off of there and back to the hospital. This will hurt so I'm going to knock you out."
Draco watched her through slitted eyes. She'd been crying, but she sounded more angry than upset now. He wanted to tell her not to bother, he probably wouldn't last much longer. He thought he was telling her, but she didn't seem to be listening. Finally he lifted a hand to her cheek, ignoring the searing pain in his abdomen. She lifted her face to him again, and Draco saw she was still crying. Crying for him. Then she lifted her wand and he saw no more.
Minutes or hours later, Draco heard a voice. It cut through the darkness around him like a knife. He didn't know the voice, but he did know the place. He'd been here before. This time, however, there was no sense of something left undone. He was ready to sink into the dark and the cold because there was nothing left for him. But the voice bothered him. If it would just go away, he would get about the business of dying, but the voice kept hammering at him. It was a hard, male voice, and it didn't like him at all. The voice was encouraging him to die, and he would love to oblige, but it wouldn't shut up! In fact, if he could get his hands on the voice, he'd throttle it. Then, praise be and hallelujah, the voice stopped!
Draco settled back, more exhausted than he could say. Then the other voice began. He knew this voice, but couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Ginny had spent hours on Draco, stopping internal bleeding, repairing the organs in the stomach. After she was done, she watched the medics settle him into a bed, then left to wash up and change. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She wanted a little while to relax, get clean and bring the day's events into perspective. It was still early, barely evening, but she felt she could sleep for hours. But Ginny didn't want to sleep. She just wanted to think for a little while.
Draco's camp had looked like a massacre had taken place, but actually only one of his people had been killed. And only he had been seriously injured. After treating and talking to everyone, they'd discovered that one of the trolls, the one the group had taken on, had used a sleeping powder on them before it finally succumbed to its wounds. But all agreed that if Draco hadn't taken on the last troll himself, or more important, if he hadn't wakened them when the attack began, they'd have been much worse off.
It hadn't taken much to figure that her first sense of unease had been when the attack had begun. And then she'd been able to see part of the attack from his point of view. Why? What did it mean?
Ginny stripped off the soiled robe and sweater. She rummaged around her trunk and came up with an oversized tee shirt, but paused. Don't be stupid, she told herself. He probably wouldn't waken tonight. But she pulled out an emerald green turtleneck sweater. She wrapped her bathrobe around her and headed to the shower room.
After she showered up, Ginny stopped by the mess tent and grabbed a quick sandwich. She hadn't been able to eat while waiting for word of
Draco's camp, then had been busy after. Many of the medics and healers were giving her odd looks, as though wondering how she'd known about the attack. She still didn't know herself. She felt uncomfortable with their stares and ate quickly. She hurried back to the hospital tent. The patients all had beds with curtains, but most curtains were open. She was surprised to see Draco's were closed. As she approached, she heard a voice. It was low and harsh, but she recognized it immediately.
"You know you should just die!" Eric Timmons' voice was saying. "She doesn't want you, you know. She's going to marry me!"
What the bloody hell? Ginny thought, hurrying toward the curtained bed.
"You think she's been waiting for you? Stupid bastard, it's been four bloody years, and you're too late!"
Ginny yanked the curtains back and saw Eric leaning over Draco's unconscious form, a look of intense hatred on his face. The look changed to one of shame and surprise when he saw her standing there.
"Ginny!" he said. "I thought you were going to take a nap."
"Obviously," Ginny said heatedly, moving toward the bed. "Get away from my patient."
Eric stepped back a bit, but seemed to be trying to block her from him.
"Look, Ginny, I was just-I wanted to-," he paused, then his face grew hard again.
"He deserted you!" he hissed. "He walked away and hasn't once, in four years, taken the trouble to even send you a note! And when he comes in, after nearly getting his whole crew killed, you can't even see anyone else. It makes me sick! Don't you see how sick that is?"
Ginny stiffened. Maybe it was sick, maybe it was just pathetic. But it was her life and he had no right to try to interfere!
When she finally spoke, her voice was tightly controlled. "Medic Timmons, you will leave right now. You're relieved of your duties for now. You will not come near this patient again."
She stood rigid, staring straight ahead. He looked at her, his face anguished.
"Ginny, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said-."
"You will address me by my title from now on. And don't ever, ever come near my patients again."
He towered above her, but right now he looked small and insignificant. He lowered his head and nodded. Then he turned and left.
As soon as he left, Ginny hurried to Draco's side. She took his hand and smoothed the hair from his forehead. He no longer looked angelic in sleep. His young face was creased with lines at the forehead and around the eyes. Whatever he'd been doing these last four years, it had taken its toll. He didn't stir and Ginny was dismayed to note that his life force was weaker than it had been when she'd been treating him. She sat on the chair beside the bed and held his hand between both of hers.
"Come on, Draco, you can't give up now! You held on this long. Just hang in there! Archimedes is hovering about the camp and she won't come and eat because she's worried about you. Your crew is worried, too. They're all waiting for you to get up and tell them what to do."
She didn't feel any improvement in his life force. She squeezed his hand and leaned closer. "I'm still mad at you, you stupid git. You left without saying goodbye! If you die on me, I'm never going to forgive you!"
It was a stupid thing to say, but she thought she felt a definite surge in his energy. A tear spilled down her cheek and she closed her eyes. Leaning her head against his pillow, she whispered, "Please, Draco, don't give up. I need you."
Ginny didn't know how long she sat like that, but she must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her awake. Ginny sat up, groaning at the stiffness in her neck. She looked up and saw the kindly face of Maggie, one of the older healers. Her seamed, wrinkled face smiled down at Ginny.
"Go on, luv, get some rest and I'll watch out for 'im," she told Ginny, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll call you if 'ee needs anything."
Ginny was about to protest, but she WAS exhausted. She finally rose and stretched. The older woman put an arm around her shoulders and led Ginny out of the cubicle. Ginny paused, looking over her shoulder toward the sleeping form on the bed. Maggie straightened, towering over Ginny.
"And WHAT does the Master 'Ealer say about rest?"
Ginny gave the imposing woman a wan grin.
"Rest is as important as magic in healing," she said guiltily.
Maggie gave her a small hug.
"Off with you, lass. I'll keep an eye on your young man. Besides," she added with a wicked smile, "you'd scare the man to death if 'ee got a glimpse of you right now."
Ginny nodded and stumbled toward the women's sleeping tent, but she veered toward the makeshift owlery. She had one message to send before she could go to sleep. Taking a small envelope and sheet of notepaper from the box tacked up to the wall, Ginny scratched out a quick message. She found Archimedes and showed her the note.
"Did someone take care of you love? Did you get some rest?" she asked the bird.
Archimedes hooted softly and leaned into Ginny's stroking fingers.
"Do you think you can deliver one more message today, love?"
Archimedes rustled her feathers and stuck a claw out, indicating her readiness to take the note. Ginny gave her the note and the directions, then made her way to her bed, nearly asleep on her feet. She was still confused and upset about Eric and what he'd done. And what DID she say to Draco after four years. She knew how she felt, but he probably had forgotten all about her. Whatever, though, she'd get some sleep and think about it tomorrow.
Draco came awake slowly, feeling as though he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. He opened his eyes and saw that it was dark. He felt like he'd been asleep for hours. He tried to sit, but groaned and lay back as the pain hit him. A soft, dry hand brushed his forehead. He looked up, but instead of seeing Virginia's beautiful, concerned face, he saw the wrinkled face of a woman of about sixty. When he tried to look around her, she smiled at him in a kindly manner.
"Don't worry, love, she just needed to get some rest. Been up these last two days, she 'as. Been 'overing over you for hours. Now you just go back to sleep and you can see 'er in the morning."
Draco was tired, it was true. But the idea of just going to sleep like a good boy was repugnant to him. He opened his mouth to argue when the woman rose to her full height and put her hands on her hips. She looked at him as though he were an errant schoolboy.
"The Master 'Ealer says to rest! Got it!?"
Draco couldn't help but smile at her. So this was the Master Healer? What was she doing standing a bedside watch in the middle of the night? Before he could argue, she lifted her wand and sent him back to sleep.
When he woke again, Draco could hear the soft bustle of activity outside his curtained cubicle. He tried to sit again, and found that he was much improved from the night before. He looked around for the Master Healer, but found he was alone. He tried to remember what had happened the previous day, but everything was jumbled in his mind. But he definitely remembered Virginia finding him and crying over him. He wanted to see her and the Master Healer had told him she'd stayed by his side for hours. Did that mean she still cared? Was it possible? He had to see her. The curtain rustled and he looked up eagerly. The young woman who entered wasn't Virginia, though.
"Oh, yer up!" she said in an irritatingly bright voice. "I came to give yer a wash 'fore the Master 'Ealer comes ta see yer!"
As if to prove her point, she held up a basin with a washcloth. She set the items on his bedside table.
"Just gotta get the water," she chirped, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.
Draco hadn't even had a chance to ask her where Virginia was. And she was mad if she thought she was going to give him a bed bath!
Ginny woke later than usual. She stretched lazily, wondering why she'd been so exhausted. DRACO! He was here! She had to go see him! She'd showered last night, so she just brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. Then she carefully selected her clothing.
The young female medic zipped back into the cubicle with a large pitcher of water. She poured some into the basin and touched it with her wand to heat it.
"Right, then, where should we start?"
She grinned brightly, her blue eyes gleaming appreciatively as she looked at him. She was going to enjoy this!
Draco crossed his arms. "We can start with Virginia Weasley. I want to see her."
The young woman stopped, looking confused. "But, sir," she began.
"Virginia Weasley," Draco said slowly, his voice menacing.
Now she nodded, but tried again. "Yes, sir, but you're a mess. The Master Healer-," she said, but he cut her off again.
"Has already seen me a mess." Now his voice grew louder. "I don't give a damn about your Master Healer. She can go to hell on a slow broom for all I care. I want--,"
The curtains were thrown back and Ginny's voice sliced through the space.
"I'm sure Amy knows precisely what you want, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice tightly controlled and icy. "In fact the entire ward knows how unhappy you are, I dare say."
She looked at the young medic and nodded. "You can go, Amy."
The young woman slipped past Ginny and pulled the curtains closed behind her. Draco could only stare at her, standing there stiff and proud in her long, crimson robes with her Master Healer's collar tab sparkling at her throat. Dear lord, he thought. She was the Master Healer!
Chapter Fifteen (I think)
The morning air was frigid and cold with mist covering the small clearing. The shapes of several tents of various sizes from two-person to six-person could be seen through the swirls of mist. These tents weren't ordinary tents, though. They were magical. Some had chimneys that gave off fragrant pine smoke; some had double canvas layers to help keep the heat inside. In the early morning light, though, most were dark and silent.
Although no sign of movement could be seen or stir of activity could be heard, one of the tents held a wakeful, restless occupant. Draco Malfoy sat on his hard cot and stared moodily into the small fireplace on the opposite side of his small tent. At least the outside appeared small. Inside, however, there was room for two cots, a desk, a water closet and a fireplace. He was already clothed, but because of the news yesterday and the celebration last night, he knew it would be hours before most of the rest of the camp was ready to rise. He stood and crossed to the fireplace. His long, slender legs were encased in tough bicorn leather pants. Dragon hide boots shod his feet. The warm linen shirt he wore was old but neatly mended and clean. On the bed lay the battle robe he usually wore over his other clothes. He'd spent the last of his allowance money on it after he'd left Hogwarts, but it had been a good investment. It was dark green, of a special lightweight but warm material that had been charmed to repel magical attacks. Though fragile looking, the garment had worn better than most of his small collection of clothing. It looked more like a very long tunic with side slits from the hem to the hip and gave the wearer more freedom of movement, while still providing long sleeves and deep pockets for storing wands and other magical items. Draco found it perfect for the sort of hand-to-hand combat he and his band of freedom fighters had been engaging in for the last three years.
Draco plucked the short knife from the wooden mantelpiece, where he had thrown it moments before. He frowned, remembering when the knife had been plunged into his former friend, Vince Crabbe. Crabbe was still moldering away in some wizard prison for his attack on Virginia Weasley. The Crabbe's apparently weren't rich enough to keep their little darling out of prison. Hell, Draco thought, disgusted, his own father had barely had enough to keep himself out of prison, although Lucius Malfoy's attack on two students at Hogwarts and his attempted use of an unforgivable curse had kept him tied up in the legal system long enough for Draco's mother to hide herself. Draco knew Lucius had not wasted any of his remaining fortune, now sadly depleted, in trying to find his wife, but had poured the remaining Malfoy assets into supporting Voldemort. Voldemort had repaid Lucius' loyalty by sacrificing the man to make good his own escape when Aurors had unexpectedly raided the Malfoy home. Rather than be taken prisoner, Lucius had consumed a deadly poison he had hidden in his robes. Draco's other former friend, Greg Goyle would have ended up in prison for his part in Virginia's abduction if he'd been a threat to anyone. But after consuming an entire pound of the Weasley twin's incendiary candy, Goyle required machines to help him breathe. He lived on a liquid diet because his stomach and intestines had been so severely damaged. Draco understood he was in almost constant pain, and just lay in his bed in his parents' house, waiting for death to finally take him.
He hadn't thought of those two in a while. But the news they'd received yesterday had him thinking about a lot of things he'd tried to forget.
Bill Weasley had written him that the war was officially over. There was still some resistance, and roving bands of renegades who would attack just to cause mayhem. But with the destruction of Voldemort, most of the fighting was over. Draco had been overjoyed to hear it. He was sick of the death and the carnage he'd seen and helped cause. He felt the darkness of the war to his very soul. It was one thing to talk about fighting for a cause, but the reality was the stench of rotting carcasses in the summer heat, the smell of your partner's vomit after the battle was over, the blood that never seemed to wash out of your clothes. The reality was finding frozen corpses on the battle field and living with the fact that you killed people and creatures who had someone (or something) waiting for them, anxious to hear any news on their loved one. The reality was than nothing, NO cause was worth this horrible price!
Draco shook his head and returned to his cot. Bill's letter had been cautiously hopeful on the subject of the war. But then it had turned personal. Draco could see the words in front of him, despite the fact that the letter was now nothing more than ash at the bottom of his fire.
'Well,' it read, 'I've had some interesting news. That git Timmons wrote me. Seems he's asked my sister to marry him. Seems she said a June wedding would be beautiful. I know her medical camp is somewhere near you, so maybe I'll go visit her.'
That was it. In those few brief sentences, Draco died inside. He balanced the knife in his hand, blade first, and with a quick flick of his wrist he sent it flying toward the mantelpiece again, where it stuck, quivering from the impact.
What the hell did he expect, he thought angrily. He hadn't asked her to wait for him, wouldn't have expected it. Hell, he hadn't even spoken to her since he'd left her bedside almost four years ago. Oh, he'd had news of her occasionally from Bill. She had gone to the healer's school. Had even become a medic in record time.
But Draco had never contacted her or tried to see her. And he'd never been able to forget her, either. That was the hell of it. One kiss, a few brief caresses, and now there was no other woman in the world for him. He knew. He'd tried, in a fit of anger at hearing that she'd been seen with some man at dinner somewhere, to seduce and bed one of the young women who were always flirting with him. It had been a fiasco! The woman had been tall, lithe, and brunette. Nothing like Virginia. But at the crucial moment when he was ready to enter the woman's body, he breathed Virginia's name. Naturally, the woman had been livid! She'd stormed out, hugging her clothing to her body and berating him for the stupid bastard he was.
He'd learned. A few more disastrous attempts had taught him that he would get more satisfaction with his own hand, than with a living, breathing female, unless she happened to be Virginia Weasley.
But he still hadn't approached Virginia. Over time, he became more and more convinced that he'd done the right thing to leave, but would she ever forgive him for it? Did she even care? He didn't think of himself as a coward, but he couldn't go to her. He still had nothing to offer her, except himself. He'd had an offer from Bill to join him as a curse-breaker for Gringotts.
"The pay isn't all that great, but the travel is free and you can take your family!" Bill had said. "Besides, you get a share of every treasure you recover, and that's not bad!"
Draco had actually considered it. He wasn't trained to do anything at all, always expecting to inherit his family money and not have to work. He could try to play professional Quidditch, but he didn't love the game; never had. That was probably why Potter had always beaten him. He'd thought that if he took the job with Gringotts, he could save up a bit, then think about a wife and kids, even take care of his mother. But he hadn't heard from his mother for almost two years, and he didn't need to worry about a wife, anymore. Virginia was getting married to someone else.
Draco rose and lifted his hand. The knife was wrenched from the wood and flew back to him. He closed it and put it in his trouser pocket. His hand automatically closed on the other items in the pocket. He withdrew them, feeling his heart clench again. A very battered, torn green ribbon was wrapped around a creased, cracked bit of parchment. Draco unwrapped the ribbon with trembling hands. Carefully unfolding the parchment, he read the words again. This time, though, no smile at her cunning or ingenuity crossed his mouth. Draco traced the faint writing with a slender finger, almost feeling her strong, smooth fingers again.
Biting back an oath, he crumpled the parchment in his hand, determined to burn it, too. It was unimportant. It had no meaning any longer. He strode across to the fire, but couldn't seem to do it. He looked at the little ball of parchment, watching it uncurl in his hand now that he wasn't clenching it tightly. As suddenly as he'd crushed it, he laid it on the mantelpiece and carefully smoothed it again. Then he folded it into a small square and rewrapped the ribbon around it. Slipping it into his pocket, Draco angrily stomped to his bed. He couldn't sleep, so he might as well scout around before everyone else got up.
Draco donned the long, oriental looking, dark green robe, then buckled on his slim sword. He looked at the hollowed out bicorn horn he sometimes used to signal other camps. It could be hung from his belt and didn't really weigh much, but did he really need it? He doubted he would have any trouble; there hadn't been any sign of enemy activity in this area in days. But three years of fighting had taught him to be ready. He picked up the horn and clipped it to his belt. Then, pulling on his fur-lined dragon hide gloves, he left the tent.
The cold November air was crisp and clean, smelling of pine smoke and the sea away to the west. Draco walked about the clearing, looking at the signs of the revelry from last night. Thankfully there were few alcohol bottles. He'd been adamant about that. No drunkenness. If they were unexpectedly attacked while drunk, they'd be slaughtered. To die in battle was one thing, but to be murdered in your bed because you were filthy drunk was unforgivable.
Draco left the clearing and unsheathed his sword. He gave it a few experimental swings, loosening his arm muscles. Might as well practice, he thought. Suddenly he felt a prickle of unease run up his spine. Still swinging the sword, Draco looked and listened carefully. He couldn't see anything to cause his uneasiness. As though it were part of his routine, he gave a few practice jabs with the weapon, then spun and moved the other way. There! In the trees to his left was a slight movement. And another. Draco continued practicing, counting at least seven beings watching him. Human, troll, or other, he didn't know. But there could always be more.
Draco now practiced more enthusiastically, gradually backing toward the camp. He wasn't certain if the watchers were hostile or not, but while he could defend himself against two or three attackers at a time, seven would be too many, especially if there was a powerful magic user in the group. Draco was less than a hundred yards from the camp when the first watcher broke from cover. It was a man, probably in his thirties. The man's eyes were sunken and seemed to burn with a fanatical light. As Draco watched, the man reached in his sleeve and withdrew a wand.
"FOR VOLDEMORT!" he cried, whipping the wand in Draco's direction.
Several other men burst from the trees, also pointing their wands, but they stopped, amazed. Draco was no longer standing before them. The man who had attacked first suddenly slumped to the ground. The others turned around and saw Draco sheathing his sword and pulling out his own wand.
"How did he-," one of them started to ask, but he flew back as Draco hit him with a blast of magic. Then Draco disapparated again, only to appear behind another. He stupefied this one and disapparated again. He'd been lucky so far, by surprising them. But they would soon recover and begin to attack in earnest. He disapparated back to camp, knowing they would head here. Pulling the horn from his belt, he let loose a loud blast. The sound rang in the cold air, and the camp immediately stirred to action.
"We're under attack!" he shouted, placing himself at the head of the path and summoning his bow and arrows from his tent. He threw the quiver of arrows over his shoulder and strung an arrow. He calmly aimed, hearing his mates organizing behind him. Then his focus tightened and he saw and heard nothing but the enemy now rounding the path and running, weapons raised, toward him.
With a zing! the arrow flew straight through the throat of the first attacker. He fell back and tripped the woman directly behind him. Draco drew another arrow from the quiver and strung it, and another man fell. There were many more than he'd thought. At least a dozen men and women were swarming toward him. A spell shot past Draco and hit another of the attackers, freezing the woman on the spot. As she fell, her companions trod on her body, causing more damage than the spell had done. Now the enemy was at the verge of the clearing and Draco threw his bow aside. Drawing his sword, he ran into the fray, heedless of his own safety.
The band of renegades was poorly trained, relying on surprise to defeat their enemy. But, though, they fought with grim determination, causing as much damage as possible, Draco thought the battle might be over quickly. Then he heard a sound that made him shiver. Over the sound of clashing weapons and shouts, Draco heard a slow, rhythmic stomping of heavy feet. Mountain trolls! Draco quickly dispatched the renegade in front of him and looked around. Few of the attackers remained standing, and some of the defenders were also looking around. Mountain trolls were tough, ruthless, and too stupid to quit when they were beaten. They were immune to most magic and didn't have many weak spots. Even as he watched, four huge mountain trolls moved into view. Draco's stomach lurched. This was going to get very ugly, very fast.
Ginny Weasley turned off the hot water and groped for her towel. She wrapped the towel around her head and shrugged into her bathrobe. Ginny had been up all night, having the on-call duty, but she was restless now. Her medical unit had gotten the word that the war was officially over yesterday, and most of the staff had stayed up late celebrating, but, being on duty, she had remained sober. Actually, though there was an allotment of alcohol available for special occasions, few of the medics and healers had indulged. In their line of work, healing someone while drunk could have disastrous results. She sat on the overlarge, padded bench that some enterprising medic had brought back from a scavenging trip to London. The bench was very comfortable and large enough for two adults to share it, as long as the adults were agile and very friendly. Ginny chuckled lightly at the thought, but froze when her mind conjured an image of a long, lean blond twined with her smaller redheaded self.
Damn! Four long years and she still couldn't stop thinking about the son of a bitch! Oh, yes, she'd heard from Professor Dumbledore, from Bill, even from her Mum, that he'd had to go, to become his own person. Bill had told her that Draco had been miserable for months after leaving her. But it had been four years and she hadn't heard a thing from him.
Ginny angrily dragged the towel from her head and began to vigorously dry the short locks. If she had her way, she'd rip his memory out of her mind and the longing for him from her heart. She wasn't a stupid, romantic sixteen-year-old anymore. She was a healer, and a damned good one, too! She was reasonably attractive and could probably easily find a man to care for and to care for her. Hell, that wasn't the problem. In fact, there was one man, older, mature, very handsome, who was asking her to marry him! She liked him and had a great deal of respect for him, but she didn't love him. In fact, while it might have been pleasant to kiss the man, she never had shared more than a friendly peck on the cheek with him. She just couldn't seem to imagine herself becoming physically intimate with him, so she certainly couldn't marry him.
She thought of Eric Timmons, her former teacher, now one of the staff of the small medical unit with her. He'd been supportive in those last miserable days before she left Hogwarts. He'd even written a glowing recommendation and given her his own personal copy of "Treatment of Dark Magical Wounds". And after her schooling, which had been much better than she'd hoped, he had joined her in the small field hospital and was a valued member of the staff.
But one thing had been consistent. His hatred of Draco Malfoy. She had tried to tell him, several times, that Draco had SAVED her, and that she had been partially to blame for what had happened. He wouldn't hear it. In fact the only time she ever argued with Eric was when Draco's name came up.
Ginny finished toweling her hair and sat back on the wide bench. Eric had asked her again, a few days ago. Ginny was becoming very good at avoiding conversations that might lead to his proposing, but he'd snuck it in on her. He'd asked about her brother Percy and his engagement. She'd told him that Percy's fiancé, Pen, wanted a June wedding. Then, she'd stupidly sighed that a June wedding would be beautiful. And he'd asked again. She'd said no; she always said no, but it didn't seem to stop him. She told him she would always love and respect him as a friend, but nothing more. Ginny had never led him on. And this most recent time she had been brutally honest, saying that she couldn't foresee ever consenting. That had stopped him for a short time, but he'd finally smiled and said that she would grow to love him if she'd just give it a chance.
Heaving a great sigh, Ginny thought about the letter she'd received from Bill yesterday. It had confirmed that the war was officially over. He told her that there might still be some renegade bands out to do whatever harm they could, so the medical units weren't being disbanded, yet. And he told her that there were some groups of freedom fighters in her area. In fact, Draco Malfoy's band was only about ten or so miles from her location, and wasn't that interesting? He ended with a warning to keep alert, as the renegades would probably just as happily attack a medical unit as a combat unit.
Ginny had felt a thrill of excitement when she'd read about Draco's unit, but the thrill had faded quickly. He probably knew she was here, but apparently had no desire to see her. She'd heard a lot about him in the last three years. He was tough, exacting, and driven. But he looked out for the people under his command and took care of them. Even though he was one of the youngest wizards or witches to command a unit, his people were fiercely loyal to him. He was growing to be almost as big a hero in his own way as Harry Potter. The sneaking, bullying, spoiled boy she'd known seemed to have really grown up. She shook her head at how strange the world was. She was hopelessly in love with a man she'd hated for years. And the same man, who had seemed to be destined to be one of Voldemort's servants, was one of the enemy's most ferocious foes.
Ginny finally stood and firmly belted the robe around her waist. She couldn't just sit here brooding. They didn't have any patients right now, but that didn't mean there weren't things to do around the camp. She gathered her things and exited the shower room. As she was crossing the clearing from the showers back to the women's sleeping quarters, Ginny felt an uncomfortable prickling feeling down her neck. She looked quickly around, but most of the camp was still asleep. No one was around.
The feeling faded, but Ginny still felt uneasy. In her small cubicle she pulled clean clothing from her trunk and tossed the dirty medical scrubs she'd been wearing into the laundry basket. She pulled on a pair of slim trousers and a knit turtleneck. Then she pulled on a heavy set of robes. She ran a comb through her hair and sat down to pull on her socks and boots. Finished, she decided to see if there was any breakfast ready in the mess tent yet.
The uneasy feeling had faded, but it was still present, in the back of her thoughts. By now a few healers and medics were up and about and she waved to a few people as she passed. Suddenly she froze. She didn't feel uneasy any more, she felt terrified. Something very bad was about to happen! She didn't know what, or where, but it was happening NOW! Her ears filled with the rhythmic stomp of heavy feet and her nose filled with the stench of some horrible creature. The camp disappeared and she saw the vague outline of four huge creatures in her mind's eye. She saw a small group of witches and wizards shooting arrows and spells at them, but they kept coming. The leading creature had five arrows through the neck and finally fell. The next had been hit by what looked like several incendiary spells and ran away in flames, only to collapse in a burst of fire. But that still left two.
They were mountain trolls, Ginny realized, and they were attacking Draco's camp. She didn't know how she knew, but the knowledge was there. The final two trolls were almost on the small human band, but the constant rain of arrows was slowing them slightly. One looked almost on its last legs. Then her perception changed. She was facing one troll, the strongest, all alone! Gods, Draco was taking the beast on himself, drawing it away from the others! Ginny clenched her hands, now totally immersed in the battle. She could hear the cries of the other fighters, but mostly, she heard the heavy breathing of the beast in front of her. It lumbered toward her, it's heavy spear, more a sharpened sapling than a spear, raised. It lunged, thrusting the spear forward, and Ginny gasped as she could almost feel Draco jumping away. Then she saw a sword fly through the air, sticking deep into the beast's neck. Ginny felt a thrill go through her. He defeated the troll!
But the troll wasn't done yet. With its last strength, it hefted the spear and launched it. Ginny shrieked as though she felt the impact. Then she doubled over and fainted.
A small group of people had gathered around Ginny when she finally came to. She couldn't have been out for very long, as no one had thought to summon a litter yet. Ginny sat, wondering what had happened. Then she remembered. Ginny scrambled to her feet, ignoring the hands that reached down to help her.
She looked at the medic directly in front of her.
"Get team one ready, we're going to be busy soon!" she snapped. The young man jumped back, startled, but ran off to rouse all the healers and medics who comprised their emergency response team one.
Then Ginny waited.
Draco had never felt anything like this before. The trolls had taken their toll. All of his team were injured or dead, he wasn't sure which. He'd taken the last troll himself, hoping he might be able to use a combination of his weapons and magic, and draw it away from his own people. They were having enough trouble with the last of the renegades and the wounded troll. He'd been lucky not to be wounded, yet. Drawing the troll away from the camp, Draco made his stand with his back to a large pine. The troll followed him, thrusting at him with the lethal spear. Draco threw weakening spells at him, dodging and blocking. Finally, the giant beast lifted its bony head in frustration and bellowed. Draco said a quick prayer and sent his sword flying at one of the few weak spots on the creature. The sword flew true, but trolls were slow to die. The creature knew it was done for, but used its last strength to thrust the spear at the puny creature who had killed it. The spear caught Draco low in the stomach. The force of the blow drove him back into the pine tree behind him, impaling him and pinning him to the trunk.
Now Draco stood, legs trembling, trying to hold himself up, off of the spear pinning him. It helped to relieve the pain. There was a sudden flutter of wings and Archimedes landed gently on Draco's shoulder. She seemed to feel his pain, for she hooted softly and rubbed his face with her elegant head. He couldn't help giving her a small smile, remembering how she would not leave him when he'd tried to set her free four years ago. A small sound, a groan, let Draco know that some of his people might still be alive.
Looking into the intelligent eyes, Draco gasped, "Get Virginia. Remember Virginia, love? Go get her!"
Archimedes hooted loudly and flapped her wings, then she was off. Draco breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that some of his folks might survive. His last thought before he passed out was of brown eyes and red hair. Now he'd never get to tell her how he felt.
Ginny was growing more and more agitated. It had only been about twenty minutes, and the healers and medics were standing by with their supply pouches and brooms ready. But they were eying Ginny questioningly. She bit her lip. She couldn't explain how she knew they'd be needed, but luckily no one questioned her. Then, suddenly, a beautiful owl appeared in the sky. It circled once then zipped down, landing on her shoulder.
"Archimedes!" Ginny cried. "What is it?"
She looked for a message on the owl's leg, but there was nothing. The owl flapped her wings in agitation.
"What? Is it Draco?"
Archimedes settled down and blinked once.
"Is he alone?" Ginny had seen several other people in her vision or whatever it was.
More agitated wing flapping followed.
Ginny was sick with anxiety, but said calmly, "Five?" Flapping. "Ten?" More flapping. "Twenty?" This time the flapping was less vigorous. "Twenty-five?" Archimedes settled down and hooted. "Is everyone injured?"
The owl blinked again. Ginny nodded. "Can we follow you, love, or are you tired?"
The owl seemed t take offense at this. She gave Ginny a small shriek and flapped her wings again.
"Sorry, love. Of course you're not too tired. Right then," she said to her astounded audience. "Mount up and we'll follow Archimedes."
The medical unit followed the owl to a small clearing not too far from their own camp. They were horrified by what they saw, but they went to work immediately. The only way to tell the difference between friend and foe was to check the left forearms. But at the moment, the healers and medics didn't care about that. They triaged the wounded, and got to work. The few who were dead were covered quickly, and the healers moved on to those they could help.
Ginny moved from person to person, healing what she could, dressing wounds, setting fractures, stopping bleeding. But the one she was looking for was nowhere to be seen. She finished tying off the emergency bandage she was working on and looked around. Archimedes was perched on a tree branch nearby.
"Where is Draco," she cried.
The owl launched herself toward one of the paths leading out of the clearing. Ginny grabbed her bag and wand and ran after her. She hadn't gone very far when she felt herself grow pale. Her legs wanted to buckle under her, but she fought off the urge. Draco seemed to be leaning casually against a large pine tree. It was only when you noticed the large spear impaled through his stomach and stuck into the tree that you knew something was wrong. Ginny ran up to him, tears already streaming down her face.
"Oh, lord, Draco, what have you done to yourself now!" she whispered helplessly.
She was shocked when his eyelids fluttered. "V-virginia?" he asked, then coughed, blood dribbling down his lips.
Ginny shoved her fear and concern aside. She was a professional, and her tears wouldn't help him right now.
"Just shut up. I'm going to get you off of there and back to the hospital. This will hurt so I'm going to knock you out."
Draco watched her through slitted eyes. She'd been crying, but she sounded more angry than upset now. He wanted to tell her not to bother, he probably wouldn't last much longer. He thought he was telling her, but she didn't seem to be listening. Finally he lifted a hand to her cheek, ignoring the searing pain in his abdomen. She lifted her face to him again, and Draco saw she was still crying. Crying for him. Then she lifted her wand and he saw no more.
Minutes or hours later, Draco heard a voice. It cut through the darkness around him like a knife. He didn't know the voice, but he did know the place. He'd been here before. This time, however, there was no sense of something left undone. He was ready to sink into the dark and the cold because there was nothing left for him. But the voice bothered him. If it would just go away, he would get about the business of dying, but the voice kept hammering at him. It was a hard, male voice, and it didn't like him at all. The voice was encouraging him to die, and he would love to oblige, but it wouldn't shut up! In fact, if he could get his hands on the voice, he'd throttle it. Then, praise be and hallelujah, the voice stopped!
Draco settled back, more exhausted than he could say. Then the other voice began. He knew this voice, but couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Ginny had spent hours on Draco, stopping internal bleeding, repairing the organs in the stomach. After she was done, she watched the medics settle him into a bed, then left to wash up and change. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She wanted a little while to relax, get clean and bring the day's events into perspective. It was still early, barely evening, but she felt she could sleep for hours. But Ginny didn't want to sleep. She just wanted to think for a little while.
Draco's camp had looked like a massacre had taken place, but actually only one of his people had been killed. And only he had been seriously injured. After treating and talking to everyone, they'd discovered that one of the trolls, the one the group had taken on, had used a sleeping powder on them before it finally succumbed to its wounds. But all agreed that if Draco hadn't taken on the last troll himself, or more important, if he hadn't wakened them when the attack began, they'd have been much worse off.
It hadn't taken much to figure that her first sense of unease had been when the attack had begun. And then she'd been able to see part of the attack from his point of view. Why? What did it mean?
Ginny stripped off the soiled robe and sweater. She rummaged around her trunk and came up with an oversized tee shirt, but paused. Don't be stupid, she told herself. He probably wouldn't waken tonight. But she pulled out an emerald green turtleneck sweater. She wrapped her bathrobe around her and headed to the shower room.
After she showered up, Ginny stopped by the mess tent and grabbed a quick sandwich. She hadn't been able to eat while waiting for word of
Draco's camp, then had been busy after. Many of the medics and healers were giving her odd looks, as though wondering how she'd known about the attack. She still didn't know herself. She felt uncomfortable with their stares and ate quickly. She hurried back to the hospital tent. The patients all had beds with curtains, but most curtains were open. She was surprised to see Draco's were closed. As she approached, she heard a voice. It was low and harsh, but she recognized it immediately.
"You know you should just die!" Eric Timmons' voice was saying. "She doesn't want you, you know. She's going to marry me!"
What the bloody hell? Ginny thought, hurrying toward the curtained bed.
"You think she's been waiting for you? Stupid bastard, it's been four bloody years, and you're too late!"
Ginny yanked the curtains back and saw Eric leaning over Draco's unconscious form, a look of intense hatred on his face. The look changed to one of shame and surprise when he saw her standing there.
"Ginny!" he said. "I thought you were going to take a nap."
"Obviously," Ginny said heatedly, moving toward the bed. "Get away from my patient."
Eric stepped back a bit, but seemed to be trying to block her from him.
"Look, Ginny, I was just-I wanted to-," he paused, then his face grew hard again.
"He deserted you!" he hissed. "He walked away and hasn't once, in four years, taken the trouble to even send you a note! And when he comes in, after nearly getting his whole crew killed, you can't even see anyone else. It makes me sick! Don't you see how sick that is?"
Ginny stiffened. Maybe it was sick, maybe it was just pathetic. But it was her life and he had no right to try to interfere!
When she finally spoke, her voice was tightly controlled. "Medic Timmons, you will leave right now. You're relieved of your duties for now. You will not come near this patient again."
She stood rigid, staring straight ahead. He looked at her, his face anguished.
"Ginny, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said-."
"You will address me by my title from now on. And don't ever, ever come near my patients again."
He towered above her, but right now he looked small and insignificant. He lowered his head and nodded. Then he turned and left.
As soon as he left, Ginny hurried to Draco's side. She took his hand and smoothed the hair from his forehead. He no longer looked angelic in sleep. His young face was creased with lines at the forehead and around the eyes. Whatever he'd been doing these last four years, it had taken its toll. He didn't stir and Ginny was dismayed to note that his life force was weaker than it had been when she'd been treating him. She sat on the chair beside the bed and held his hand between both of hers.
"Come on, Draco, you can't give up now! You held on this long. Just hang in there! Archimedes is hovering about the camp and she won't come and eat because she's worried about you. Your crew is worried, too. They're all waiting for you to get up and tell them what to do."
She didn't feel any improvement in his life force. She squeezed his hand and leaned closer. "I'm still mad at you, you stupid git. You left without saying goodbye! If you die on me, I'm never going to forgive you!"
It was a stupid thing to say, but she thought she felt a definite surge in his energy. A tear spilled down her cheek and she closed her eyes. Leaning her head against his pillow, she whispered, "Please, Draco, don't give up. I need you."
Ginny didn't know how long she sat like that, but she must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her awake. Ginny sat up, groaning at the stiffness in her neck. She looked up and saw the kindly face of Maggie, one of the older healers. Her seamed, wrinkled face smiled down at Ginny.
"Go on, luv, get some rest and I'll watch out for 'im," she told Ginny, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll call you if 'ee needs anything."
Ginny was about to protest, but she WAS exhausted. She finally rose and stretched. The older woman put an arm around her shoulders and led Ginny out of the cubicle. Ginny paused, looking over her shoulder toward the sleeping form on the bed. Maggie straightened, towering over Ginny.
"And WHAT does the Master 'Ealer say about rest?"
Ginny gave the imposing woman a wan grin.
"Rest is as important as magic in healing," she said guiltily.
Maggie gave her a small hug.
"Off with you, lass. I'll keep an eye on your young man. Besides," she added with a wicked smile, "you'd scare the man to death if 'ee got a glimpse of you right now."
Ginny nodded and stumbled toward the women's sleeping tent, but she veered toward the makeshift owlery. She had one message to send before she could go to sleep. Taking a small envelope and sheet of notepaper from the box tacked up to the wall, Ginny scratched out a quick message. She found Archimedes and showed her the note.
"Did someone take care of you love? Did you get some rest?" she asked the bird.
Archimedes hooted softly and leaned into Ginny's stroking fingers.
"Do you think you can deliver one more message today, love?"
Archimedes rustled her feathers and stuck a claw out, indicating her readiness to take the note. Ginny gave her the note and the directions, then made her way to her bed, nearly asleep on her feet. She was still confused and upset about Eric and what he'd done. And what DID she say to Draco after four years. She knew how she felt, but he probably had forgotten all about her. Whatever, though, she'd get some sleep and think about it tomorrow.
Draco came awake slowly, feeling as though he'd been hit by a ton of bricks. He opened his eyes and saw that it was dark. He felt like he'd been asleep for hours. He tried to sit, but groaned and lay back as the pain hit him. A soft, dry hand brushed his forehead. He looked up, but instead of seeing Virginia's beautiful, concerned face, he saw the wrinkled face of a woman of about sixty. When he tried to look around her, she smiled at him in a kindly manner.
"Don't worry, love, she just needed to get some rest. Been up these last two days, she 'as. Been 'overing over you for hours. Now you just go back to sleep and you can see 'er in the morning."
Draco was tired, it was true. But the idea of just going to sleep like a good boy was repugnant to him. He opened his mouth to argue when the woman rose to her full height and put her hands on her hips. She looked at him as though he were an errant schoolboy.
"The Master 'Ealer says to rest! Got it!?"
Draco couldn't help but smile at her. So this was the Master Healer? What was she doing standing a bedside watch in the middle of the night? Before he could argue, she lifted her wand and sent him back to sleep.
When he woke again, Draco could hear the soft bustle of activity outside his curtained cubicle. He tried to sit again, and found that he was much improved from the night before. He looked around for the Master Healer, but found he was alone. He tried to remember what had happened the previous day, but everything was jumbled in his mind. But he definitely remembered Virginia finding him and crying over him. He wanted to see her and the Master Healer had told him she'd stayed by his side for hours. Did that mean she still cared? Was it possible? He had to see her. The curtain rustled and he looked up eagerly. The young woman who entered wasn't Virginia, though.
"Oh, yer up!" she said in an irritatingly bright voice. "I came to give yer a wash 'fore the Master 'Ealer comes ta see yer!"
As if to prove her point, she held up a basin with a washcloth. She set the items on his bedside table.
"Just gotta get the water," she chirped, disappearing as quickly as she had appeared.
Draco hadn't even had a chance to ask her where Virginia was. And she was mad if she thought she was going to give him a bed bath!
Ginny woke later than usual. She stretched lazily, wondering why she'd been so exhausted. DRACO! He was here! She had to go see him! She'd showered last night, so she just brushed her teeth and splashed water on her face. Then she carefully selected her clothing.
The young female medic zipped back into the cubicle with a large pitcher of water. She poured some into the basin and touched it with her wand to heat it.
"Right, then, where should we start?"
She grinned brightly, her blue eyes gleaming appreciatively as she looked at him. She was going to enjoy this!
Draco crossed his arms. "We can start with Virginia Weasley. I want to see her."
The young woman stopped, looking confused. "But, sir," she began.
"Virginia Weasley," Draco said slowly, his voice menacing.
Now she nodded, but tried again. "Yes, sir, but you're a mess. The Master Healer-," she said, but he cut her off again.
"Has already seen me a mess." Now his voice grew louder. "I don't give a damn about your Master Healer. She can go to hell on a slow broom for all I care. I want--,"
The curtains were thrown back and Ginny's voice sliced through the space.
"I'm sure Amy knows precisely what you want, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice tightly controlled and icy. "In fact the entire ward knows how unhappy you are, I dare say."
She looked at the young medic and nodded. "You can go, Amy."
The young woman slipped past Ginny and pulled the curtains closed behind her. Draco could only stare at her, standing there stiff and proud in her long, crimson robes with her Master Healer's collar tab sparkling at her throat. Dear lord, he thought. She was the Master Healer!