Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor

I'm back after a whopping two days. God, I am so sorry! Actually, I think I'm doing pretty well. Thanks so much for the wonderfully explicit reviews! I've gotten so much helpful advice and encouragement! It's really been cool! This story's coming along and should be done fairly soon. I start school the 23rd, so it'll be finished by then.

Disclaimer: I hate this. The End.

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"Er - Malfoy, this is really getting uncomfortable."

Draco snapped out his daze. Ginny was starting to look annoyed and more nervous by the minute. Oddly enough, this made Draco feel a bit uneasy himself. Rather than taking advantage of the small young woman, he felt the inexplicable urge to apologize profusely. He was scaring her, and for the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy wished he were as unintimidating as Neville Longbottom.

"I won't hurt you, Virginia," he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers.

"Please just get off, Draco," she said as softly. She was still afraid of him and trying desperately not to show it. Though he had every intention of letting her go and booting himself later, Draco couldn't seem to get his body to comply with his mind.

This was the possible expletive for Ginny suddenly cupping his face in her hands and pulling his mouth to hers. Like the lips in his vivid dream (or nightmare, depending on how he looked at it), hers were soft, warm, and totally innocent. The kiss was tentative, hesitant, questioning. In other words, she didn't know what the hell she was doing or why she was doing it.

All this flashed through Draco's mind in the instant that the kiss lasted, but before he could get his stunned brain to send a most important message to his mouth, telling it to kiss her back, she had pulled her mouth from his. Taking advantage of his momentary stupidity, she was able to slide out from under him and hurry back to her own bed, where she buried herself in her own sheets, reemerging only to pull her hangings around her bed before disappearing again.

Three rather useless words crossed his mind.

"What - the - hell?"

His cold fingers reached up to his mouth to feel where her lips had touched his. He couldn't think. He couldn't begin to guess what that had been about. But it scared him.

Most alarmingly, all of his carefully constructed emotional walls were cracking, teetering, crumbling - ready at the slightest provocation to tumble to the ground.

She made him that weak. That unstable. That confused.

"Damn," he whispered in awe, staring across the Hospital Wing at the hangings hiding her. "God damn!"

Abruptly, the Hospital Wing doors flew open. Draco jumped about a foot in the air, his train of thought totally interrupted. Suddenly, his mind was back in the Wing, back to being very ill, back to his unhappy existence as 'big bad Draco'.

His 'friends' had arrived.

The fifteen minutes he spent listening to Pansy, Blaise, and Millicent chatter away affectedly at him, while Vince and Greg sat in stupid silence next to his bedside, were some of the worst of his life. All of his aches and pains seemed to intensify, and his level of sheer misery way steadily crawling towards the notch reading 'off the scale.'

Ginny was right, he thought caustically. Some friends I've got. They hadn't come to see him because he was sick and they were concerned about him. They had come because they felt they had to.

Their final departure was a considerable relief. He didn't even bother to thank them for coming. Not that he had ever thanked them for anything before, but he assumed that if they had been his friends, he would probably have had to pretend to be thankful they cared about his well being.

Not that they did, really.

He was half expecting - half hoping - that Ginny would make some derisive comment about Blaise's ditziness, Pansy's obvious attraction to Draco, or Crabbe's apelike face. But even after the five visitors had left, she remained silent.

"Why'd you kiss me, Weasel?" he called weakly, his throat thick and rather sticky. He had hoped to provoke her into answering, but no reply came. Maybe she was asleep.

Or deliberately ignoring him. He groaned and slid back down into his bedding. He felt drained. Something in his routine world was horribly askew. And that something had a name.

Virginia Weasely.



"Why'd you kiss me, Weasel?"

The words echoed unrelentingly in her mind. Why, indeed.

She would have liked to tell herself that her intention had been to surprise him into letting her go, but she wasn't in the habit of kidding herself. She knew perfectly well that she hadn't wanted to leave.

But she had been afraid.

Not of Draco. Though his threatening proximity when he was trying to intimidate her made her uneasy, it was more for her own sake than because he himself was scary or frightening. She knew how dangerous it was to be too close to him. It was as if all rational thought vanished. He overpowered her senses, made her want things she'd never wanted.

And that wasn't the worst of it. He made her feel things that she wasn't ready - didn't want to feel yet. God, she was only sixteen! She had no business falling in lo -

Ginny froze as the word skidded to a halt halfway across her train of thought. No. She couldn't - she didn't -

Oh, dear.

Feeling overwhelmed with this unforeseen - and unasked for - illumination, Ginny eventually sunk into a fitful sleep.

When she woke again, it was to find that she was feeling much worse. Her throat now burned and felt so swollen that she couldn't swallow. Her entire body hurt, as though she had been the Bludger in a Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match.

She moaned.

"Well, dear," Madam Pomphrey's voice had lost it's strict edge and was very gentle. She was leaning over Ginny's bed, her hand pressed to Ginny's forehead.

"I'm afraid your fever's risen," the nurse explained kindly. "You need to try to lay as still as possible. Drink some water." Ginny shook her head, moaning again. She hurt! But Madam Pomphrey pressed a cup to the young redhead's lips and she sipped. She could barely force it down.

Tears of pain rose in her eyes. She wished she were at home with her mother and her favorite brother, Charlie. The only thought in her mind, in fact, was of the Burrow and how she longed to be there, being made tea and being cuddled and loved by everyone. She felt utterly alone and wretched here in the Wing.

"Wanna go home," she mumbled, torturously choking back a sob of fear and agony.

"I know, love," the nurse' voice was sympathetic, and she stroked Ginny's tear stained face soothingly. "Try to go to sleep. The rest will help. Sleep, my dear."

And Ginny did sleep; fitfully and dreamlessly. She tossed and turned in her fever, her temperature boiling, her body ice cold. At one point, she opened her eyes (or thought she did) and saw her mother and Charlie sitting at her bedside. But when her eyes really opened, she was in the infirmary and hurting as badly as ever.

"Ouch," she whispered, her throat tightening as she felt the tears of discomfort and loneliness rise to her eyes. It was as if her spirit was as ill as her body. Through her wavering vision, she saw the hospital bathed in moonlight. But now she was too exhausted to think of monsters. She wanted Charlie. Or her mum. She closed her eyes in utter despair, quite sure she would be dead by morning. She let out a sob.

The next thing she knew, a warm, smooth hand was caressing her cheek. Her burning eyes opened.

"Not feeling well, Weasely?" Draco sat in a chair beside her bed, wrapped in his comforter. He was leaning on the edge of her bed and his right hand was running tenderly across her wet cheeks.

And his face. The expression he now wore was - what was it? The irony and cynicism were gone. The handsome features were etched with worry. Anxiety for her, she realized with a jolt of surprise.

"What's up, Weasel?" he asked, running a hand over her hair. Ginny's tears, now flowing in relief, continued as she rolled onto her side. Reaching out, she took his unoccupied hand tightly, the contact wonderfully reassuring. Someone was finally taking care of her.

"Do you need anything?" Draco's voice was gruff, but his eyes betrayed him. And in that moment, in that split second, Ginny felt true contentment. She knew she was at her weakest, knew that she looked a mess. But here was someone she didn't need to impress, someone she didn't have to prove anything to. For whatever reason, he accepted her as she was - for better or worse - no questions asked.

And he wanted to help her. Wanted to take care of her.

"Stay with me?" Ginny begged, the plead coming out in a hoarse gasp. She swallowed, whimpering in pain as knives cut into her lunges.

"I'm right here, Gin," he assured her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. And he was. He wasn't going to leave. He wasn't obligated to be anywhere else. He was there for her. And that fact was all Ginny needed.

"You should probably have some water," Draco said, after Ginny had lay in silence for a few minutes before finally groaning at the pain searing her chest and throat. Slipping an arm under her back, he helped her sit up. She whimpered at the feverish pang that had every part of her body squirming in misery.

"Shh, it's all right," Draco's voice murmured in her ear. "Pomphrey says you're dehydrated. Here." He held the cup to her lips and she sipped slowly. This simple action tiring her beyond all her walks to his bed put together, she leaned her head against his shoulder, breath ragged. Too tired to care what happened next, Ginny sat in silence, Draco's strength adding to her own all the while.

"Thanks," she mumbled, with a little sigh, leaning heavily into him. After a moment, her eyes closed, but she could feel him slide her over a bit, then seat himself beside her on the bed. Still sitting up, she felt him shift the pillows so they were against the back board.

"I think sitting up ought to keep your sinuses clear," she heard him say almost conversationally. "According to your know-it-all friend Granger, anyway." He pulled Ginny gently against his side and leaned back against the pillows. She felt her pain ease a bit. This was almost like having a brother care for her - but better, somehow. The situation was missing one bit, however.

"Will you sing to me, Draco?" she begged quietly.

"Sing to you?" he asked in surprise, his own voice scratchy. "Why?"

"Charlie always does at home, to keep the monsters away," Ginny explained, not really knowing or caring what she was saying, just feeling the need to insure that he would be there with her until she fell asleep.

"I don't see any monsters about," he argued, pulling her closer. "Don't worry, though. I'll protect you."

"I know you will," she whispered. "I know you will." And she did.

He was silent for a long moment. Ginny sighed, wishing she were enjoying the situation more. She simply lacked the energy.

When Draco finally spoke, his voice was very soft.

"What do you want me to sing?"

"Don't care," Ginny muttered, distantly surprised that he had agreed at all.

"Well, that's just not good enough," he teased gently. "I mean, you can't expect me to know what kind of music is soothing to you. Honestly, suppose I find the Sorting Hat's song from this year to be an ingenious lullaby?"

Ginny giggled through the ache. She heard him laugh softly in return.

"What songs do you know?" she asked, feeling mildly curious. She rubbed a hand across her eyes and yawned painfully.

"Lots," came the unhelpful response.

"Any Muggle songs?" she challenged, shifting in his arms and trying to get more comfortable (although she knew it was a wasted effort).

"Promise not to tell?" he said conspiratorially. She nodded against his shoulder. "Could ruin my reputation if your brother heard about it."

"Won't tell," she promised in barely more than a whispered.

"I know a few," he admitted. "When I was nine, I asked my mum for voice lessons. I loved to sing and my fath - Lucious always told me that if I wanted to learn anything, I needed to do it thoroughly and properly. Probably the only piece of helpful advice he ever gave me, in fact."

" 's okay, Draco," Ginny murmured, her arms tightening around him. Even through her own pain, she could feel his. The same tears she had cried for him the night before rose to her eyes, because she knew it would never be 'okay'. Not for him. Not after what he had obviously endured.

"Anyway," he continued, "my mother looked everywhere for a voice teacher. Would you believe there isn't a bloody one to be found in the wizarding world?" He laughed mirthlessly. "So she asked me how badly I wanted lessons. Wanted them more than anything in the world. So she found me a Muggle near where we lived. She wasn't nearly as high minded about the whole Mudblood thing as Lucious.

"So we kept it a secret. I took lessons for a year before Lucious cottoned on," his laugh was embittered once again. "My mum tried to reason with him. I mean, god, they were only fucking voice lessons!"

He paused and Ginny felt his chest rise and fall rapidly. Despite her exhaustion, Ginny was wide awake. His reverie was translating into the physical pain of remembrance as he spoke. She could feel his muscles tightening.

"He was upset. Said he couldn't believe that his own wife and son would consort with Mudbloods," Draco was mumbling now, anguish no longer hidden. "He killed Elli - my teacher - himself. Used the killing curse. Then he punished me."

Ginny let out a quiet sob and buried her face in his bare chest. The pain she felt on his behalf hurt far more than the agony of her fever.

"Bastard!" she whispered with conviction, envisioning Lucious Malfoy's head bursting into flame.

"Oh, thanks," Draco said. "Glad to know I'm appreciated."

Ginny let out a bizarre sob-laugh.

"I meant your - I meant that ass who calls himself your dad," she corrected him, smiling slightly. He was silent for a long moment.

"Sorry for asking you to sing," Ginny offered when her tears had slowed. She coughed hard and groaned miserably.

"Whatever. I said I would. What do you want me to sing?" he waved the apology away as he reached over to her nightstand for her water goblet.

"Do you know the band U2?" she asked, before taking a sip of water and almost gagging on it.

"They're British, right?" he asked, forcing her to take another few swallows. "Yeah. Elli was a bit of a revolutionary, as far as voice teachers are concerned. She didn't teach me the technical stuff. She mainly taught me to control my voice and make it do what I wanted it to."

"Do you know 'Spanish Eyes'?"

"Sure," and he sang.

In a little while Surely you'll be mine In a little while I'll be there In a little while This hurt will hurt no more I'll be home, love In a little while I'll be there

His voice, unlike the rugged voice of U2's lead singer, was smooth and clear, only tinged with the hoarseness of illness. Ginny smiled against his shoulder, her pain forgotten as she listened in rapture to the heavenly sound coming from Draco.

"More," Ginny commanded drowsily when he'd finished.

"Like that, did you?" he said, some of his sarcastic confidence coming back into his tone. Ginny didn't care.

"No shit, Sherlock," she retorted. "Start singing immediately!"

"Anything, Milady," he smirked. And he sang.

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There ya have it! I have a bit of trouble getting this part to work the way I wanted, but success was imminent. Sorry I took a little longer. I'm trying to keep pace faithfully. I've been overwhelmed by the response to this story! Thanks a bundle, guys! I can't believe it's been so well received. I was also overjoyed (and awe-struck and dumbfounded and rendered oblivious to the world around me and - you get the idea) to discover that one of my favorite authors had reviewed - several times! No names, but thanks so much to all of you!

I shall go on. And remember - yay for Tessy!