A/N: Update! Happy Fourth of July, to those of you in America. As for the D/G action some of you have asked for—it's coming. But really, the whole story has been D/G action, as that is whom Ginny has interacted with so far. But if you mean innuendos and the like…it's coming very soon. And a wee bit at the end here.

Thanks to Darcie for the beta :-)

Disclaimer: JKR owns the settings and people in this story.

Roses In December

Part IV

------

Ginny stormed back to Draco's common room in a fleeing anger. He caught up to her before she could enter, his firm grip whirling her around.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked harshly. She turned away, trying to shrug him off. He persisted.

"Why did you have to tell him that I was 'besotted' with you?" she glared. "Do you know how angry he would be with me? How angry he was? How he will think I have gone crazy? You can punish me if you want, but I won't allow you to tell horrid lies to my family!"

"What would you have me tell him, then, Ginny?" he asked. "Do you have any marvelous ideas for us?" he looked at her squarely in the eye. "Something else that could be more buyable?"

"Anything's more buyable than the silly excuse you gave!" she spat.

His angry features instantly smoothened out expressionlessly, but his cold, calculating eyes told her otherwise.

"I'm sorry you think it's ridiculous for anyone to love me."

Ginny gaped, a sinking feeling falling in her stomach; Draco wordlessly climbed into the common room.

"Look, that's not—it's not—"

"Save it," he said curtly. "I know perfectly well what you meant."

--

Once again, Ginny awoke to an empty dorm room, this time shivering madly. The second night of sleeping on the icy floor seemed to have done its charm on her. The tip of her nose was frozen, and her throat tingled a little.

Just three more nights until break…and then I can have my own bed…

On Draco's, the same note lay there upon the silken sheets, commanding the same thing.

--

"What are we doing today?" Ginny asked, perhaps a little more cheerfully than she should have.

She was still feeling a bit guilty about what she had said the night before, although it was entirely true. By all means, she should not even be feeling any sympathy for this murderer. But the look he had given her might have made anyone melt a little.

If he noticed her eagerness to obey, he didn't show it.

"We're destroying evidence," he said.

"But, didn't we—" Ginny stopped.

Draco walked on ahead, and motioned her to follow.

"Draco, I have a class in thirty minutes!"

"We can finish during lunch and dinner."

Ginny mumbled quietly, but followed. It looked like she would be missing her meals for a few days.

Her stomach grumbled back in response.

--

"Oh, God," Ginny moaned, clutching her nose at the horrible stench that arose. It made her mouth go dry and her stomach churn angrily. The smell hung thickly and impenetrably through the enclosed air; it seemed to grasp at her.

"Better get used to it," Draco suggested. "We're cleaning out all the blood, the smell; everything."

"Well, that'll be easy enough," said Ginny determinedly, pulling out her wand.

Draco shook his head.

"We're going to be extra careful, and scrub the floors and walls by way of actual labor, and then spell them clean again."

"But that will take forever!" Ginny objected, feeling weak at the thought of getting on her knees, her face level with the rancid smell. But upon Draco's face was an indestructible determination.

"Have you even scrubbed floors before?" she asked. He looked as if he would not answer.

"I guess we better get started then," he said stiffly.

--

Thirty minutes later, Ginny threw her sponge down. Squish, it said as it hit the soapy floor. Wiping the sweat off of her brow, she stood up. The closet still had the rank smell of death, but it was fainter, and not the sharp, dizzying intensity it had been before.

"What are you doing?" Draco questioned. He looked oddly humbled by the way he was crouching across the floor, his hair mussed and his knuckles red.

"Classes, Draco," Ginny reminded him. "We have classes."

A sour look crossed his face.

"Fine," he relented. "We'll continue this during lunch. Let's hope to God someone doesn't find this closet before then."

Ginny bit her lips as she watched him stand up slowly. It seemed like she was observing him for the first time, and what an odd time to do so. He was tall, but seemed crouched over a little, making him seem almost weak. There were tiny specks of fear still embedded into his gray eyes.

Before she could stop herself, she was feeling an unmistakable pang of desire to comfort him. He looked so tired, after all, and she was suddenly reminded that perhaps, he was human. Human enough to feel fear, despite being a—well, heartless murderer.

"No one's found this room for nearly a week, Draco," she told him quietly. "I think you'll be safe for another couple hours."

Giving him a fleeting smile, and then replacing it before he could truly see it, she picked up her bag and walked on ahead of him.

--

Ginny went to her classes. Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Potions. All of her professors' lessons seeped through her skull as if it were a sponge.

Which reminded her of cleaning. Which reminded her of Draco. Which was the only thing she could think about. She wondered if she had given in to him already. She curled up in her chair and chewed on the end of the quill. She thought of Draco and waited for a surge of anger to come. None.

She hadn't argued with him once today, and instead had been nearly reassuring. One minute she was cursing his existence, the next she was feeling terrible for him, and then again she was telling herself he didn't deserve it.

She soon found herself peering into the soapy, yet dirty bucket.

"Think we should change the water," she muttered, before muttering a spell that replaced it. Draco stood against the door with a large, yellow sponge that did not befit him.

"We don't have much left to do," he said authoritatively, before going down to his knees. "I expect we'll be finished before lunch ends."

Ginny looked up at him and nodded, before starting on the wall she had left off on. They immersed themselves in the gentle scrub-scrub sound as they washed.

"I don't know how they do it," he said darkly and suddenly. Ginny looked over her shoulder.

"Who?"

He seemed to hesitate, and avoided her stare.

"The Muggles. Don't know how they do this manual labor. I heard wives do this cleaning bit nearly every day."

Ginny gave a small chuckle.

"Kind of amazing, aren't they?"

"I won't admit anything of the sort," Draco said grudgingly, but no doubt there was some renewed respect in his voice as he eyed his red and tired hands and arms.

"Well, of course you won't," Ginny agreed. "Too prideful, aren't you?" But her tone was not spiteful.

He didn't answer. When their short conversation halted to a stop, Ginny pursed her lips and went back to furiously rubbing a particularly nasty stain. The silence left her to think about things, and she didn't know if that was good or not. She looked at the spot and couldn't help but wonder who had caused it.

"Who was it?" Ginny burst out, before she could stop herself. Draco did not answer.

"Who did you kill, I mean…." She trailed off and felt foolish. Draco gave a small snort.

"Why, so you can go tell someone?" he asked, perhaps more severely than he had intended. Ginny's mouth dropped immediately to protest as her brows knitted into a frown.

"No! So you can stop assuming I'm out to get you, Malfoy!" she scolded, giving a hard jab at the wall. Draco did not retort, nor apologize. He didn't say anything for a minute, and all that was heard was the sound of him working. And then, he did speak, calmness barely withheld.

"It wasn't anyone in your house, if that's what you were wondering," he said. "It wasn't anyone in any of the other three houses. It was my own kind. Does that make you feel better?"

Ginny searched for the right words to say. She felt angry, and at the same time, incredibly sad and morose.

"How can you say that?" she asked. "Of course that doesn't make me feel better."

"No," he agreed. "Nothing seems to please you."

--

That night began as quite possibly one of the coldest she had ever endured.

On several occasions she could not hold back and sneezed aloud, before curling up and shivering again. Every bit of cold air in the room was seeping thickly into her bones. Draco shifted uncomfortably from above her, probably wondering if the others had heard.

They hadn't. The rest of his dorm mates were sound asleep and snoring softly. Ginny had noticed that although the first to rise, Draco was never the first to sleep. She had always sensed his alert presence beside her up until the last moment before she let herself drift into unconsciousness.

Her nose tingled again, and Ginny screwed her eyes shut before slapping her hand to her mouth and nose in an attempt to stifle the noise. It came out muffled and contorted.

"Don't you dare wipe your hand on my pillow," came his hushed voice as he leaned over his bed. Ginny trembled in response. A moment later, she felt a lightweight something upon her body; Draco had thrown down a blanket. Warmth flooded through her almost immediately.

She felt his hands brush over her body to better tuck her in the comforter, and her eyes closed in peace.

"Go to sleep," he ordered soothingly. She complied, and dreamt in warm colors.

--