Don't Call Me Weasel!
By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor
Yay for Tessy! Chapter 3 's up and running. I is so speedy! And I would like to apologize to all those who have read Douglas Adams. I did some almost unnoticeable, but rather direct quoting of his fabulous sentence structure in here. Don't freak out, I was just offering my confession in advance.
Disclaimer: This is mine, all mine! Actually, I'm a liar. It will be mine, all mine - just as soon as I learn how to get around the infamous copyright infringement laws! Which will be never, so forget it. And I'd like to add that anything of Mr. Adams' that I may have 'borrowed' is his (um, DUH!).
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The sound of someone yelling jolted Ginny out of a light slumber. Her eyes snapped open and she hissed once again as the light of what she soon discovered to be the setting sun blinded her. Groaning, she closed her eyes tightly. Trembling and feeling very sick indeed, she slid deeper beneath her soft bedclothes. She could hear voices across the Hospital Wing and strained her ears to listen.
"What on earth do you mean, a cold shower?" demanded Madam Pomphrey's sharp voice. "You're fever is at least 103, boy! Exposing your body to low temperatures will only raise your fever and possibly shock you."
"Shock is good," Ginny could just imagine Draco's incensed expression. "Look, woman, I don't care of I die! I want cold and I want it now!"
"A washcloth is all I will permit, Mr. Malfoy," the stubborn nurse insisted, obviously not understanding what he was on about. Ginny could just make out a wet plop and a sharp gasp.
"That washcloth is enchanted to stay cold and moist for at least another hour. Just holler when you need another," Madam Pomphrey said huffily and her footsteps echoed as she returned to her office. The instant the door slammed, Ginny giggled.
"Damn that crone!" Draco shouted hoarsely. "Can't get a sodding thing in this place!"
"What's up your - er, mind?" Ginny called, her eyes still closed.
"Merlin, I am surrounded by bloody morons," he ranted, either not hearing her question or choosing to include her in that august assembly.
"What do you want a cold shower for?" Ginny giggled again. She wasn't nearly as innocent as everything seemed to think her.
"What do you keep asking me stupid questions for?" came the reply. "Bite your tongue, Weasel."
"Don't call me Weasel; or maybe I'll bite your tongue instead," she said wickedly.
"What?" was the articulate response.
"God, I was joking, Malfoy," she laughed roughly, coughing and reaching for her water goblet.
"You know, that whole façade of childish innocence you put on may be a front," he said thoughtfully. "But you do not want to suggest things like that to me unless you mean them. Do I look naïve? Do I look like bloody Colin Creevy?"
"Don't think you want me answer that," she returned, not in the least intimidated by his threats. "Why a cold shower? Who, exactly, were you dreaming about?"
"Oh, did your mummy tell you about the birds and the bees, you big girl you?" he taunted.
"I'm not a baby, Malfoy!" she snapped, unable to keep her temper in spite of valiant efforts in that direction.
"Prove it," he drawled, clearly delighted at having gotten her worked up. For a brief moment, Ginny was tempted. But then a better - and far more appealing - idea entered her enraged conscience.
"Fine," she said softly, throwing off her sheets. From the abrupt silence that answered her, she could guess just how astounded Draco was that she had taken him up on his provocation, instead of getting huffy and leaving it at that.
Boy, did he have another thing coming.
It took Ginny a bit longer than her last sojourn across the Wing, as her fever was again on the rise, but her rage and determination to wipe the smirk from Draco's face made the trip a lot easier. She pushed her drapes out of the way and stepped into his corner of the Wing.
She didn't gasp, though it was a close thing, at the sight that met her. Draco was sprawled atop his bedclothes in a pair of flannel pajama pants; quite different from those he had worn on his first visit to the Wing. His bare and well muscled - understatement of the year, Ginny thought - chest, torso, and arms lay like eye candy before her. They looked not so much thrown as arranged for a photo shoot, but the effect was the same.
Rather than deterring her, however, the fact that he could appear almost divinely sexy, even with pneumonia, only served to raise her dander.
Moving with new resolution, she stalked to his bedside. He grinned up at her. Due to the washcloth over his eyes, he couldn't really see her - which, Ginny decided, was to her advantage.
"Your timing's horrible," he sneered. "I'm afraid I just don't have that kind of energy at the moment - "
His words were cut short by Ginny drawing back her hand and slapping his face as hard as she could - which was with considerable strength. His head snapped sideways, though the rest of him remained stationary, and remained turned. Then Ginny leaned down so her face and his upturned ear were inches apart.
"How does it feel to be on the receiving end? Bite - me - Malfoy," she hissed, her blood boiling. Deliberately, she turned away and walked quietly back to her own bed. Crawling into it was a relief and she sank gratefully into the sheets. She closed her eyes against the dwindling illumination of twilight, sighing in satisfaction.
Feeling suddenly peaceful, she allowed herself to slide back to sleep, curled into a ball. The guilt would set in soon enough. She might as well enjoy herself until that happened.
When she awoke again, it was with a soft yelp of terror. Her dream, so vividly clear in her mind's eye, took several seconds to fade completely.
Shaking her head to clear it, she sat up cautiously, trying to slow her heart and breath. She felt drained and terrified and was quite certain that her fever had risen again. She could feel cold sweat on her forehead. She also became aware of a horrible chill coursing through her weakened body. Another worked its way up her spine as the images of the particularly graphic nightmare faded into vague sensory perceptions within her subconscious.
The fear ebbing a bit, Ginny looked cautiously around the Hospital Wing. All the windows were tightly closed and it was quiet. The stillness of the room made Ginny nervous. The shadows that draped the Wing in semi-darkness seemed like the little monsters that used to live under Ginny's bed when she was five.
There had, in fact, been three of them - however, after Ginny coming to sleep in his bed every night for two weeks, her brother Charlie had finally gone looking and discovered three (completely harmless) Mooncalves under her bed. The inexplicable skipping shadows on the walls of Ginny's room had been a result of the Mooncalves dancing in the moonlight that streamed through her bedroom window. It had taken a good while to fish them out, as Mooncalves are intensely shy, but Charlie had done it and set them loose to live in their usual burrows in the woods.
In this instance, Ginny knew perfectly well that the motionless shadows in the Hospital Wing were just cast by the various beds and equipment scattered around, but that didn't make her feel any better. She slid a little further under her blankets and closed her eyes again.
Nothing happened. She tried again.
Nothing continued to happen - for about ten minutes. Her brain was too skittish to relax. If only Charlie had been there - she had always gone to him with nightmares as a child - then she could have climbed into bed with him and told him about the nightmare, which, of course, would have seemed silly to him. He would make her laugh and forget it and then take her back to her own bed and sing her to sleep. As it happened, his beautiful tenor had put Ginny to sleep almost every night until he had left home.
But no Charlie was to be found and Ginny felt suddenly lonely.
Her eyes continued to scan the Wing for another ten minutes, taking in the shadows cast by the chair near her bed; by Draco's nightstand, which was piled with candy -
She paused, surprised. The drapes normally pulled around Draco's bed were pulled back as far as they would go. Madam Pomphrey had probably done that so that if he needed anything in the middle of the night, she could get to him easily.
Ginny slid apprehensively out from under her sheets and sat up carefully. She reached for her water goblet and took a long drink, her eyes still darting around the Wing.
"Ugh, I'm never gonna get to sleep," she muttered, setting her goblet down and forcing back a sneeze. Any noise making seemed dangerous. Who knew what might be lurking in the corner by the medicine cabinet, after all.
She glanced across the Wing again. She could just see Draco over the top of the baseboard of his bed. He was again haphazardly sprawled across it, though now his torso was covered in the sheet, while the duvet had been thrown off entirely.
The guilt that Ginny had been anticipating since she had first slapped Malfoy that evening now settled over her. She shouldn't have lost her temper. Whatever he had said, she should not have given in, as much for her own sake as his. The fact that he had that kind of control over her was infuriating! And the fact that she had hurt him nagged at her a bit.
Off-handedly, the thought, Did he really mean what he said the first night he was here?, crossed her exhausted conscience. She had been thinking a lot about that night. How different he had been! Had she really been seeing delirium? Somehow, she doubted it. Was that the real Draco Malfoy? He had still been witty, but the edge of bitterness had all but vanished.
Quite unexpectedly, Ginny felt tears prick her eyes. She should have been more sympathetic. She should have been asking him what made him so bitter, not harassing him about cold showers! She felt the first tears spill over her cheeks as she continued to berate herself for her own insensibility.
Another unbidden image rose in her mind. The look in his eyes when he had said, "I don't plead, right? It's just not something I do. And let me tell you, I've had plenty of times that definitely did not involve you where pleading would have been perfectly reasonable."
Even if she hadn't admitted it to herself at the time, she had had a pretty good idea of just what that statement meant. How could Draco respect and value others when he had no examples to follow in his home?
Ginny was now astonished to find herself sobbing uncontrollably. She was sobbing for him, for all those unspoken acts of hatred he had been on the receiving end of - and in his own home! He just needed to be loved, damn it! Damn his parents for turning him into the king of ice! Though distantly aware of a part of her mind wondering why she even cared, she ignored it and focused on the poor boy in the bed across from hers.
Without thinking, she climbed out of her own and crossed to him for the fourth time. The floor was icy and she shivered with cold, but the tears on her cheeks burned and all she could see was the beautiful boy before her. She reached the bed and stared down at him, her crying now silent, her tears still flowing.
Reaching out a trembling hand, she brushed his cheek with her fingers. The washcloth had vanished, probably thrown off while he tossed and turned in his sleep.
"Oh, Draco," she whispered huskily, "What have they done to you?"
With these words, Ginny crawled onto the bed and slipped under the warm sheets, wrapping her arms around the wayward man beside her and burying her face in his chest.
When Draco finally stirred awake, he felt the intense pain in his cheek almost instantly. He couldn't believe it. The bloody kid had slapped him! No one slapped a Malfoy! It was wrong - just wrong!
That was when he noticed something warm across his chest and shoulder. His right arm was also tingling a bit. However, he decided to stay where he was, cozy and comfortable. After a moment, whatever it was that was keeping him warm stirred and sighed.
Very carefully, Draco opened his eyes. What he got was an eyeful of auburn fluff. Glittering fluff, in fact, as sunlight was now streaming through the open casement and into the Wing. Noticing with some annoyance that his hangings had been pulled entirely aside, he was about to try and get his extremely cottony throat to function, when his sleep fogged brain suddenly decided to kick into gear.
Looking down again, half with trepidation, half with excitement, he saw again the auburn hair, and attached to it was Ginny Weasely. She was stretched over his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Her head, resting on his shoulder, was arranged in such a manner that he could see her face, and he was amazed to make out the paths of teardrops - though her expression was peaceful now.
She couldn't have been crying about slapping me, he thought in a daze. Still, the sight of her innocent beauty and her tearstained face served to dissipate his anger in mere seconds. She was lovely! That was all he could wrap his brain around at the moment.
His own arms, which until that point had rested limply at his sides, slowly rose to encircle Ginny. Something had upset her, and Draco was exasperated to find that the feeling he was experiencing was not triumph at having gotten her into bed, but great concern for her. What had made her cry as hard as she evidently had and then come to his bed for refuge and slumber?
His arms tightened a bit around her still form. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. But for now, she could sleep and he could enjoy her presence in a more innocent fashion - after all, the instant she awoke he would have to pretend to be the lustful bastard everyone thought him to be.
He was just drifting back to sleep, hardly able to believe that he was actually holding Ginny in his arms at last (denial, he had decided, was just going to have to be a thing of the past. He wanted her, and that was that), when he heard the doors of the Hospital Wing open. He froze, eyes snapping open. He gave his panicked mind a good kick and turned his head.
Oh, fuck, it said helpfully, as Granger, Weasely, and Potter strolled through the door. Thinking quickly, Draco rolled Ginny and himself over so Ginny was now directly underneath him - definitely a compromising position if they got caught.
Draco had no intention of getting caught. Moving slowly now, he tucked Ginny's hair under the sheets and dragged the duvet over their heads. Unfortunately, all this sudden activity and the abrupt loss of air had awoken Ginny.
"Draco, what the hell?" she gasped, though her voice was soft as her throat was probably as dry and cottony as his.
"Shh!" he hissed. "Stay quiet. The Dream Team's just arrived."
"Oh, shit."
"Right. So if you don't want us both expelled and possibly drawn and quartered, shut up!"
She closed her mouth, looking relieved.
Probably thought I was going to rape her or something, Draco thought bitterly. That was one thing he would never, ever do to anyone, and he made a mental note to tell the trembling (and, in all probability, very overheated, judging by the sweat soaked hands that rested against his back) girl that at the first opportunity.
Very aware (in more ways than one) of the young woman pressed against him, he tried to close his eyes and ignore her as he heard Madam Pomphrey come bustling out of her office to put immunity charms on the three.
"Thanks, Madam P," Potter's voice came cheerfully.
"That's fifteen minutes, you three," the nurse warned severely. "Any more than that and you'll be in here with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasely on a more permanent basis."
He heard her heels click against the floor as she stocked back to her office.
"Did she notice I was gone?" Ginny's voice was so soft he could barely hear it.
"No," he mumbled. Impulsively, he reached down. Lacing their fingers, he gave the tiny hand a brief squeeze. Then he turned his attention back to more immediate matters. After another moment of listening, he heard Granger speak.
"Where is she?"
"What, she's gone?" Potter demanded, suddenly loosing his goody-good morning attitude. To his infinite amusement, Draco heard Ginny muttering, "God, it's not as if I've been kidnapped, Harry. Keep your shirt on."
"Maybe she's in the lieu," her brother suggested.
"No, the door's open," Granger pointed out. "Where could she have gone?"
"Maybe Malfoy knows," came Weasely's voice, which had turned very deadly all of a sudden.
"And the dung has hit the fan," Potter snorted. "Why would Gin tell Malfoy where she was going, Ron?"
"Maybe he's the reason she's gone," Weasely retorted.
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Granger's voice was suddenly prissier than usual. "Look at it logically. Madam Pomphrey's been watching this place like a hawk, I'm sure. And since the whole thing with - well, in third year, she's kept the Wing locked at night."
"Right, so unless Malfoy's got a hippogriff, I think Gin's probably still around somewhere," Potter added, evidently trying to reassure the irate redhead. Draco didn't really understand what they were talking about (what the hell did he want with a hippogriff?), but Ginny must have had an idea, because the hand that wasn't clasped in his was covering her mouth and she was shaking slightly.
"Stop giggling!" Draco hissed near her ear.
"Look, I'll just ask him, Ron," Granger was saying. He heard her walk over to his bed. There was a pause.
"Um, Malfoy, are you awake?"
For a brief moment, Draco thought of pretending that he wasn't. But he knew that if he didn't respond, Weasely (the great prat!) would get suspicious and shake him awake, probably discovering Ginny anyway. He glanced down at Ginny and saw that her large brown eyes were very wide. He closed his own.
"What, Mudblood?" he rasped from beneath the duvet, laying on the 'shove off and leave me the hell alone' with a trowel.
"What did you do to my sister?" Weasely's voice was very loud and Draco hoped he would alert Madam Pomphrey's sensitive ears so she'd make them all go away.
"Why would I do anything to her?" he drawled. "I feel like I've been beaten with a large mallet and I haven't moved once since I got here. Go ahead and ask Madam P if you want, Weasel."
"Ron," Potter's voice was warning. "Let's go look around for her. Maybe she went back to the common room for something. You know Ginny. She's a wanderer. She probably got tired of being holed up and took a walk or something." But he, too sounded uneasy.
"In which case, she's probably fainted in some hallway somewhere," Granger put in. "She's very ill. Let's go look. If we still can't find her, we'll come back here. Okay?"
Good one, Draco had to hand it to the girl. She sure was tactful - even if she was a know-it-all Mudblood. Get Ginny's git of a brother to think his sister was lying dead somewhere and he'd be off.
"Fine," Weasely muttered at last. "Let's go have a look around."
Their footsteps retreated, the Hospital Wing door opened, and then closed.
Draco poked his head out from under the blankets and looks around warily. The Wing was deserted.
Then he looked down and found himself staring into the mesmerizing brown eyes of Virginia Weasely.
"Er- would you mind moving, Malfoy?" she asked breathlessly. "I can't really breathe."
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Ha ha! I've decided to exact a revenge of sorts against all those readers who have left cliffhangers in their stories and then proceeded to not update for three weeks. Word of the wise: DON'T DO IT! IT'S PURE EVIL! Anywho, you know me, I update fairly consistently. Expect more very soon!
Note to my wonderful reviewer Lovie: is this what situation kind of what you meant in your review? God, I love farse!
Yay for Tessy! Chapter 3 's up and running. I is so speedy! And I would like to apologize to all those who have read Douglas Adams. I did some almost unnoticeable, but rather direct quoting of his fabulous sentence structure in here. Don't freak out, I was just offering my confession in advance.
Disclaimer: This is mine, all mine! Actually, I'm a liar. It will be mine, all mine - just as soon as I learn how to get around the infamous copyright infringement laws! Which will be never, so forget it. And I'd like to add that anything of Mr. Adams' that I may have 'borrowed' is his (um, DUH!).
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The sound of someone yelling jolted Ginny out of a light slumber. Her eyes snapped open and she hissed once again as the light of what she soon discovered to be the setting sun blinded her. Groaning, she closed her eyes tightly. Trembling and feeling very sick indeed, she slid deeper beneath her soft bedclothes. She could hear voices across the Hospital Wing and strained her ears to listen.
"What on earth do you mean, a cold shower?" demanded Madam Pomphrey's sharp voice. "You're fever is at least 103, boy! Exposing your body to low temperatures will only raise your fever and possibly shock you."
"Shock is good," Ginny could just imagine Draco's incensed expression. "Look, woman, I don't care of I die! I want cold and I want it now!"
"A washcloth is all I will permit, Mr. Malfoy," the stubborn nurse insisted, obviously not understanding what he was on about. Ginny could just make out a wet plop and a sharp gasp.
"That washcloth is enchanted to stay cold and moist for at least another hour. Just holler when you need another," Madam Pomphrey said huffily and her footsteps echoed as she returned to her office. The instant the door slammed, Ginny giggled.
"Damn that crone!" Draco shouted hoarsely. "Can't get a sodding thing in this place!"
"What's up your - er, mind?" Ginny called, her eyes still closed.
"Merlin, I am surrounded by bloody morons," he ranted, either not hearing her question or choosing to include her in that august assembly.
"What do you want a cold shower for?" Ginny giggled again. She wasn't nearly as innocent as everything seemed to think her.
"What do you keep asking me stupid questions for?" came the reply. "Bite your tongue, Weasel."
"Don't call me Weasel; or maybe I'll bite your tongue instead," she said wickedly.
"What?" was the articulate response.
"God, I was joking, Malfoy," she laughed roughly, coughing and reaching for her water goblet.
"You know, that whole façade of childish innocence you put on may be a front," he said thoughtfully. "But you do not want to suggest things like that to me unless you mean them. Do I look naïve? Do I look like bloody Colin Creevy?"
"Don't think you want me answer that," she returned, not in the least intimidated by his threats. "Why a cold shower? Who, exactly, were you dreaming about?"
"Oh, did your mummy tell you about the birds and the bees, you big girl you?" he taunted.
"I'm not a baby, Malfoy!" she snapped, unable to keep her temper in spite of valiant efforts in that direction.
"Prove it," he drawled, clearly delighted at having gotten her worked up. For a brief moment, Ginny was tempted. But then a better - and far more appealing - idea entered her enraged conscience.
"Fine," she said softly, throwing off her sheets. From the abrupt silence that answered her, she could guess just how astounded Draco was that she had taken him up on his provocation, instead of getting huffy and leaving it at that.
Boy, did he have another thing coming.
It took Ginny a bit longer than her last sojourn across the Wing, as her fever was again on the rise, but her rage and determination to wipe the smirk from Draco's face made the trip a lot easier. She pushed her drapes out of the way and stepped into his corner of the Wing.
She didn't gasp, though it was a close thing, at the sight that met her. Draco was sprawled atop his bedclothes in a pair of flannel pajama pants; quite different from those he had worn on his first visit to the Wing. His bare and well muscled - understatement of the year, Ginny thought - chest, torso, and arms lay like eye candy before her. They looked not so much thrown as arranged for a photo shoot, but the effect was the same.
Rather than deterring her, however, the fact that he could appear almost divinely sexy, even with pneumonia, only served to raise her dander.
Moving with new resolution, she stalked to his bedside. He grinned up at her. Due to the washcloth over his eyes, he couldn't really see her - which, Ginny decided, was to her advantage.
"Your timing's horrible," he sneered. "I'm afraid I just don't have that kind of energy at the moment - "
His words were cut short by Ginny drawing back her hand and slapping his face as hard as she could - which was with considerable strength. His head snapped sideways, though the rest of him remained stationary, and remained turned. Then Ginny leaned down so her face and his upturned ear were inches apart.
"How does it feel to be on the receiving end? Bite - me - Malfoy," she hissed, her blood boiling. Deliberately, she turned away and walked quietly back to her own bed. Crawling into it was a relief and she sank gratefully into the sheets. She closed her eyes against the dwindling illumination of twilight, sighing in satisfaction.
Feeling suddenly peaceful, she allowed herself to slide back to sleep, curled into a ball. The guilt would set in soon enough. She might as well enjoy herself until that happened.
When she awoke again, it was with a soft yelp of terror. Her dream, so vividly clear in her mind's eye, took several seconds to fade completely.
Shaking her head to clear it, she sat up cautiously, trying to slow her heart and breath. She felt drained and terrified and was quite certain that her fever had risen again. She could feel cold sweat on her forehead. She also became aware of a horrible chill coursing through her weakened body. Another worked its way up her spine as the images of the particularly graphic nightmare faded into vague sensory perceptions within her subconscious.
The fear ebbing a bit, Ginny looked cautiously around the Hospital Wing. All the windows were tightly closed and it was quiet. The stillness of the room made Ginny nervous. The shadows that draped the Wing in semi-darkness seemed like the little monsters that used to live under Ginny's bed when she was five.
There had, in fact, been three of them - however, after Ginny coming to sleep in his bed every night for two weeks, her brother Charlie had finally gone looking and discovered three (completely harmless) Mooncalves under her bed. The inexplicable skipping shadows on the walls of Ginny's room had been a result of the Mooncalves dancing in the moonlight that streamed through her bedroom window. It had taken a good while to fish them out, as Mooncalves are intensely shy, but Charlie had done it and set them loose to live in their usual burrows in the woods.
In this instance, Ginny knew perfectly well that the motionless shadows in the Hospital Wing were just cast by the various beds and equipment scattered around, but that didn't make her feel any better. She slid a little further under her blankets and closed her eyes again.
Nothing happened. She tried again.
Nothing continued to happen - for about ten minutes. Her brain was too skittish to relax. If only Charlie had been there - she had always gone to him with nightmares as a child - then she could have climbed into bed with him and told him about the nightmare, which, of course, would have seemed silly to him. He would make her laugh and forget it and then take her back to her own bed and sing her to sleep. As it happened, his beautiful tenor had put Ginny to sleep almost every night until he had left home.
But no Charlie was to be found and Ginny felt suddenly lonely.
Her eyes continued to scan the Wing for another ten minutes, taking in the shadows cast by the chair near her bed; by Draco's nightstand, which was piled with candy -
She paused, surprised. The drapes normally pulled around Draco's bed were pulled back as far as they would go. Madam Pomphrey had probably done that so that if he needed anything in the middle of the night, she could get to him easily.
Ginny slid apprehensively out from under her sheets and sat up carefully. She reached for her water goblet and took a long drink, her eyes still darting around the Wing.
"Ugh, I'm never gonna get to sleep," she muttered, setting her goblet down and forcing back a sneeze. Any noise making seemed dangerous. Who knew what might be lurking in the corner by the medicine cabinet, after all.
She glanced across the Wing again. She could just see Draco over the top of the baseboard of his bed. He was again haphazardly sprawled across it, though now his torso was covered in the sheet, while the duvet had been thrown off entirely.
The guilt that Ginny had been anticipating since she had first slapped Malfoy that evening now settled over her. She shouldn't have lost her temper. Whatever he had said, she should not have given in, as much for her own sake as his. The fact that he had that kind of control over her was infuriating! And the fact that she had hurt him nagged at her a bit.
Off-handedly, the thought, Did he really mean what he said the first night he was here?, crossed her exhausted conscience. She had been thinking a lot about that night. How different he had been! Had she really been seeing delirium? Somehow, she doubted it. Was that the real Draco Malfoy? He had still been witty, but the edge of bitterness had all but vanished.
Quite unexpectedly, Ginny felt tears prick her eyes. She should have been more sympathetic. She should have been asking him what made him so bitter, not harassing him about cold showers! She felt the first tears spill over her cheeks as she continued to berate herself for her own insensibility.
Another unbidden image rose in her mind. The look in his eyes when he had said, "I don't plead, right? It's just not something I do. And let me tell you, I've had plenty of times that definitely did not involve you where pleading would have been perfectly reasonable."
Even if she hadn't admitted it to herself at the time, she had had a pretty good idea of just what that statement meant. How could Draco respect and value others when he had no examples to follow in his home?
Ginny was now astonished to find herself sobbing uncontrollably. She was sobbing for him, for all those unspoken acts of hatred he had been on the receiving end of - and in his own home! He just needed to be loved, damn it! Damn his parents for turning him into the king of ice! Though distantly aware of a part of her mind wondering why she even cared, she ignored it and focused on the poor boy in the bed across from hers.
Without thinking, she climbed out of her own and crossed to him for the fourth time. The floor was icy and she shivered with cold, but the tears on her cheeks burned and all she could see was the beautiful boy before her. She reached the bed and stared down at him, her crying now silent, her tears still flowing.
Reaching out a trembling hand, she brushed his cheek with her fingers. The washcloth had vanished, probably thrown off while he tossed and turned in his sleep.
"Oh, Draco," she whispered huskily, "What have they done to you?"
With these words, Ginny crawled onto the bed and slipped under the warm sheets, wrapping her arms around the wayward man beside her and burying her face in his chest.
When Draco finally stirred awake, he felt the intense pain in his cheek almost instantly. He couldn't believe it. The bloody kid had slapped him! No one slapped a Malfoy! It was wrong - just wrong!
That was when he noticed something warm across his chest and shoulder. His right arm was also tingling a bit. However, he decided to stay where he was, cozy and comfortable. After a moment, whatever it was that was keeping him warm stirred and sighed.
Very carefully, Draco opened his eyes. What he got was an eyeful of auburn fluff. Glittering fluff, in fact, as sunlight was now streaming through the open casement and into the Wing. Noticing with some annoyance that his hangings had been pulled entirely aside, he was about to try and get his extremely cottony throat to function, when his sleep fogged brain suddenly decided to kick into gear.
Looking down again, half with trepidation, half with excitement, he saw again the auburn hair, and attached to it was Ginny Weasely. She was stretched over his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Her head, resting on his shoulder, was arranged in such a manner that he could see her face, and he was amazed to make out the paths of teardrops - though her expression was peaceful now.
She couldn't have been crying about slapping me, he thought in a daze. Still, the sight of her innocent beauty and her tearstained face served to dissipate his anger in mere seconds. She was lovely! That was all he could wrap his brain around at the moment.
His own arms, which until that point had rested limply at his sides, slowly rose to encircle Ginny. Something had upset her, and Draco was exasperated to find that the feeling he was experiencing was not triumph at having gotten her into bed, but great concern for her. What had made her cry as hard as she evidently had and then come to his bed for refuge and slumber?
His arms tightened a bit around her still form. Whatever it was, he would find out soon enough. But for now, she could sleep and he could enjoy her presence in a more innocent fashion - after all, the instant she awoke he would have to pretend to be the lustful bastard everyone thought him to be.
He was just drifting back to sleep, hardly able to believe that he was actually holding Ginny in his arms at last (denial, he had decided, was just going to have to be a thing of the past. He wanted her, and that was that), when he heard the doors of the Hospital Wing open. He froze, eyes snapping open. He gave his panicked mind a good kick and turned his head.
Oh, fuck, it said helpfully, as Granger, Weasely, and Potter strolled through the door. Thinking quickly, Draco rolled Ginny and himself over so Ginny was now directly underneath him - definitely a compromising position if they got caught.
Draco had no intention of getting caught. Moving slowly now, he tucked Ginny's hair under the sheets and dragged the duvet over their heads. Unfortunately, all this sudden activity and the abrupt loss of air had awoken Ginny.
"Draco, what the hell?" she gasped, though her voice was soft as her throat was probably as dry and cottony as his.
"Shh!" he hissed. "Stay quiet. The Dream Team's just arrived."
"Oh, shit."
"Right. So if you don't want us both expelled and possibly drawn and quartered, shut up!"
She closed her mouth, looking relieved.
Probably thought I was going to rape her or something, Draco thought bitterly. That was one thing he would never, ever do to anyone, and he made a mental note to tell the trembling (and, in all probability, very overheated, judging by the sweat soaked hands that rested against his back) girl that at the first opportunity.
Very aware (in more ways than one) of the young woman pressed against him, he tried to close his eyes and ignore her as he heard Madam Pomphrey come bustling out of her office to put immunity charms on the three.
"Thanks, Madam P," Potter's voice came cheerfully.
"That's fifteen minutes, you three," the nurse warned severely. "Any more than that and you'll be in here with Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasely on a more permanent basis."
He heard her heels click against the floor as she stocked back to her office.
"Did she notice I was gone?" Ginny's voice was so soft he could barely hear it.
"No," he mumbled. Impulsively, he reached down. Lacing their fingers, he gave the tiny hand a brief squeeze. Then he turned his attention back to more immediate matters. After another moment of listening, he heard Granger speak.
"Where is she?"
"What, she's gone?" Potter demanded, suddenly loosing his goody-good morning attitude. To his infinite amusement, Draco heard Ginny muttering, "God, it's not as if I've been kidnapped, Harry. Keep your shirt on."
"Maybe she's in the lieu," her brother suggested.
"No, the door's open," Granger pointed out. "Where could she have gone?"
"Maybe Malfoy knows," came Weasely's voice, which had turned very deadly all of a sudden.
"And the dung has hit the fan," Potter snorted. "Why would Gin tell Malfoy where she was going, Ron?"
"Maybe he's the reason she's gone," Weasely retorted.
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Granger's voice was suddenly prissier than usual. "Look at it logically. Madam Pomphrey's been watching this place like a hawk, I'm sure. And since the whole thing with - well, in third year, she's kept the Wing locked at night."
"Right, so unless Malfoy's got a hippogriff, I think Gin's probably still around somewhere," Potter added, evidently trying to reassure the irate redhead. Draco didn't really understand what they were talking about (what the hell did he want with a hippogriff?), but Ginny must have had an idea, because the hand that wasn't clasped in his was covering her mouth and she was shaking slightly.
"Stop giggling!" Draco hissed near her ear.
"Look, I'll just ask him, Ron," Granger was saying. He heard her walk over to his bed. There was a pause.
"Um, Malfoy, are you awake?"
For a brief moment, Draco thought of pretending that he wasn't. But he knew that if he didn't respond, Weasely (the great prat!) would get suspicious and shake him awake, probably discovering Ginny anyway. He glanced down at Ginny and saw that her large brown eyes were very wide. He closed his own.
"What, Mudblood?" he rasped from beneath the duvet, laying on the 'shove off and leave me the hell alone' with a trowel.
"What did you do to my sister?" Weasely's voice was very loud and Draco hoped he would alert Madam Pomphrey's sensitive ears so she'd make them all go away.
"Why would I do anything to her?" he drawled. "I feel like I've been beaten with a large mallet and I haven't moved once since I got here. Go ahead and ask Madam P if you want, Weasel."
"Ron," Potter's voice was warning. "Let's go look around for her. Maybe she went back to the common room for something. You know Ginny. She's a wanderer. She probably got tired of being holed up and took a walk or something." But he, too sounded uneasy.
"In which case, she's probably fainted in some hallway somewhere," Granger put in. "She's very ill. Let's go look. If we still can't find her, we'll come back here. Okay?"
Good one, Draco had to hand it to the girl. She sure was tactful - even if she was a know-it-all Mudblood. Get Ginny's git of a brother to think his sister was lying dead somewhere and he'd be off.
"Fine," Weasely muttered at last. "Let's go have a look around."
Their footsteps retreated, the Hospital Wing door opened, and then closed.
Draco poked his head out from under the blankets and looks around warily. The Wing was deserted.
Then he looked down and found himself staring into the mesmerizing brown eyes of Virginia Weasely.
"Er- would you mind moving, Malfoy?" she asked breathlessly. "I can't really breathe."
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Ha ha! I've decided to exact a revenge of sorts against all those readers who have left cliffhangers in their stories and then proceeded to not update for three weeks. Word of the wise: DON'T DO IT! IT'S PURE EVIL! Anywho, you know me, I update fairly consistently. Expect more very soon!
Note to my wonderful reviewer Lovie: is this what situation kind of what you meant in your review? God, I love farse!
