A/N: It's been a while since the last update, this I know. The truth is, if my life consisted of being locked in a room with my laptop, the entire Harry Potter boxed set, and an unending supply of chocolate and Starbucks, I'd update a lot faster. Sadly for us all, it does not.

To eliminate all that pesky checking back to see if a new chapter is up, I'm posting updates on my fanfic journal (no html here. link on my profile or search 'bittersweetie' on livejournal), along with other ficlets. This is an extra long chapter to make up for the wait, so tell me what you think.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Ginny regained consciousness a few hours later, she found two startled grey eyes staring back at her. Draco Malfoy had been leaning over her in a way that blows raspberries at the very concept of personal space.

"Oh!" she yelped sinking back, and near drowning, in a cushy satin pillow.

"Good morning sleepy head," drawled Draco, who'd promptly backed himself into a corner, as far away from the angry eyed redhead as possible.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Ginny; sitting up violently and staring, gaping, out between the drapes at the loathsome Slytherin.

"Just checking to see if you were still breathing," said Draco in a tone that suggested he couldn't care less about his findings, one way or another. "Thought you might have died or something."

In her current state of shock, this made less sense to Ginny than if he'd said, "I've decided to become a tiny circus monkey. Care to join?"

There was only one plausible response.

Ginny threw a pillow at him.

"Get out! Get out of my room!"

Draco caught the pillow and threw it over his shoulder.

"Actually, this is my room," Draco pointed out. "I'm the one who should be asking you to get out."

"Gladly," responded Ginny, noticing for the first time that the drapes around her bed, no, his bed, were colored a lush green, not the usual red.

"Not so fast," said Draco, brandishing his wand to push her back, a bit too hard, into the bedclothes. Ginny landed with a flop.

"Let me go!" she shouted, struggling unsuccessfully and tangling the sheets still further while Draco kept her pinned against the bed. "What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

"Waiting for you to calm down," said Draco coolly. "You Gryffindors are such drama queens."

Ginny, who oddly enough was less than happy being pushed against a bed by Draco Malfoy, went rigid and was promptly released from his hold.

"Why am I in you room?" she demanded, sitting up, but remaining in the confines of the linens.

"You mean you don't remember?" asked Draco with mock indignation. He took a few steps closer, but kept his wand out in case she tried anything. "Last night?"

Ginny's jaw dropped like a Keeper bent on suicide.

"What?!"

Draco smirked, "Well don't look so disgusted."

"You've got to be joking!" cried Ginny, shaking her head violently.

"Actually, yes," said Draco. "For one thing it's still Thursday, and around noon at the latest."

Ginny furrowed her eyebrows, trying to remember that morning. She'd gotten up, dressed, bumped into Colin Creevey, had a tiresome conversation about wombats, finally got away, went to breakfast…but the only thing she could think of after that were Malfoy's eyes, inches from her face.

"What happened after breakfast?"

Draco considered.

"After breakfast? You fainted and I brought you to my chambers to recover."

"Like a true gentleman," said Ginny, delving so deeply into sarcasm it was doubtful she'd ever return. She thought she knew what was going on, but it didn't make any sense.

"I certainly thought so," said Draco, taking a small bow.

"Then I guess this means I'm kidnapped?"

Draco looked affronted, "Not at all, you are simply-"

"Imprisoned?" Ginny cut in.

"No, you're just-"

"Held against my will?"

"Well yes."

"Going to die?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous, Miss-"

"Congeniality?"

"Hardly."

"Breathtakingly gorgeous then?" supplied Ginny, beginning to enjoying Draco's sputtering tremendously. Obviously, there was no getting a straight answer out of this boy, so she might as well have a little fun with him. The satisfaction she got from annoying him was almost as good as the time she hit him with a Bat Bogey Hex fourth year.

"Will you let me finish?" asked Draco, trying in vain to regain his cool.

"Fine, but this better be good."

Draco cleared his throat.

"You are Ginny Weasley, sixth year Gryffindor, chaser for the Quidditch team, only daughter of Arthur Weasley, youngest of seven in a shockingly large family, with brothers Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron. You are going to stay in this room until I say otherwise. You are also a mistake and, at the moment, a waste of my time."

Now it was Ginny's turn to sputter.

"I'll see you later, Number Seven," said Draco, walking out the door and shutting it behind him before Ginny could say, "What do you mean by 'mistake'?"

Ginny heard the distinct click of a lock and started to feel queasy knowing she was in the icy clutches of a merciless Slytherin, with no means of escape. Really, she'd rather be eaten alive by a pack of carnivorous butterflies.

"'"

It was half past eleven, and Ginny was late.

She and Ron were planning to meet on the Quidditch pitch to practice a bit before lunch, Double Eight Loops, and the like. Sure, Ginny had been feeling a bit queasy, but she hadn't cancelled the practice, so Ron thought they'd just leave off work on the Woollongong Shimmy and everything would be just peachy.

Ron could've flown alone, but an uncanny paranoia prevented him. He believed the risk was too great, what with the high chance that he would fall off his broom mid-flight, perhaps after an attack by Hitchcockian crows or a particularly bloodthirsty robin, then plummet unceremoniously to the ground, be rendered helpless by full body paralysis, starve to death over a period of days, maybe even weeks, while his absence went tragically unnoticed, until one day his dead, frozen, emaciated body was discovered by a disoriented Romanian tourist, who was then, themselves, struck dead from the fright.

And how could he live with that kind of guilt?

Also, Ron reminded himself as he checked the minutes ticking away on the scoreboard timer, Ginny wasn't the kind to be absent without a reason. She should be there any minute.

Twenty minutes later, Ron stood glowering at a suspicious looking sparrow, cold and alone. He'd been tapping his foot for so long, it was now the only part of him not numb to the bone with cold. For this reason, Ron decided to start a fire.

He waved his wand over a small space of grass, and thought warm thoughts.

"Incendio."

Pink fire went snaking all round Ron's feet, spurting flames dangerously close to his robes. Ten seconds later the fire had extinguished itself, leaving hot pink scorch marks in the grass.

They spelled RON SUCKS, in letters the size of a small elephant.

"Oh bugger," said Ron.

Still frozen to the bone, and after much trepidation, Ron discovered the letters to be indestructible. To save face, he did finally manage to change the letters around some.

"Better. Definitely better," said Ron, squinting his eyes together and looking none to sure.

PRONS SUCK glowed brightly across the field.

"""

"Has anyone seen Ginny?" wailed Ron as he stepped into the Gryffindor common room.

A chorus of nos, nopes, not todays, and one very suspect, "I think she's on vacation in Latvia" responded.

"Ginny Weasley," specified Ron, turning to Mr. Latvia.

"Oooooooooooh. No."

"Did you check the Great Hall?" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"The Astronomy Tower?"

"Yup."

"Madame Pomfrey's office?"

"Yeah."

"Hagrid's?"

"Mmmhmm."

"The library?"

"Hermione, you're the only person I know who'd spend Christmas holidays in the library," said Harry.

Hermione automatically gave him a look of grave disbelief, setting down her book better to put her hands on her hips.

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

"The Quidditch pitch?"

Ron went a bit red.

"She's not there."

"Did you hear, someone wrote 'Prons Suck' on the pitch this morning?" said Hermione. "Really, the people here have far too much time on their hands without classes to go to."

"Er…I'd no idea," said Ron, going a bit redder.

"What's a pron?"

"A prawn is a decapod crustacean, commonly confused with the shrimp, another seafaring invertebrate. Prawns are delicious both boiled and fried, unless of course you're allergic to shellfish, in which case-"

"Thanks Hermione," Harry cut in hurriedly.

"Except, whoever defaced the Quidditch field spelled it incorrectly," continued Hermione, as if this were a personal insult. "I had no idea anyone felt so strongly about it, especially an illiterate someone."

"Look," said Ron, all too happy to change the subject, "This is all very interesting, but I really need to find my sister. She could've been attacked by birds, or something."

Harry gave him a weird look.

"Seriously Ron, I'm sure she's fine," said Hermione. "You need to stop being so overprotective of her. You look about ready to call in the Ministry of Magic Department of Misplaced Persons, Personas, and Personalities."

Ron contemplated.

"You know, that's not a bad idea."

And he went off to find some Floo Powder.

"I'll come with you," said Harry, jumping out of his seat.

Hermione picked up her book, grumbling to herself.

"Has no one in this school got the slightest idea what sarcasm is?"

"'"

"And you know I'm just deliriously happy that some fool Gryffindor went and drank hot cocoa that wasn't theirs, ruining my plans beyond reconciliation, AND leaving me to deal with yet another Weasley! After getting beaten up in freak hallway encounter I thought my day couldn't possibly get any better. How very wrong I was."

"Look, there's no need to start dripping with sarcasm Draco," said Theodore Knott, putting his hands up in supplication. "I'm just saying why don't we come up with a new revenge plan, since this one's been botched. Something that's less a petty prepubescent game. You know, more evil."

The way he said evil would've made Snape shiver in his knickers.

"Are you suggesting that acquiring incriminating photos of Weasley passed out in the Astronomy Tower, wearing nothing more than lacey pink women's undergarments is somehow less than evil?"

"No... I simply…" began Knott, but Draco interrupted.

"Actually, lacey red would be more evil."

Knott puzzled. "How so?"

"It clashes horribly with his hair.'

"Very evil," agreed Knott. "But as we have his younger sister…"

"And I assume she would look ravishing even if it was red," finished Draco with frustration. "Bugger it. Oh, and by the way, that little discrepancy is entirely your fault. Remind me again why I've refrained from siccing Crabbe and Goyle on you?"

"Because," said Nott importantly, "I have a proposition to make."

"Dear gods Nott," said Malfoy, exasperated, "I don't need you to hand wash my dress robes again."

Theodore looked flustered.

"No, no, not that. I was just thinking, this Weasley girl, we could use her."

"You and everybody's brother," interjected Draco. "Or so I've heard."

Nott pretended not to hear.

"We have the upper hand, Draco, and there's a lot we can do with this girl."

"Ah yes," said Draco, barely able to contain his excitement. "So we bribe him into putting the lacey undergarments on of his own free will. Brilliant!"

"Well actually that's not what I meant…"

Draco sighed.

"I know that's not what you meant. So tell me, what's the plan? I may just decide not to punish your incompetence yet."

"'"

That evening, round about nine o'clock, Ginny lay on top of the overly fluffed bed of her posh prison, tortured by the excruciating pain of extreme boredom. She flicked her wand lazily, conducting the aerial movements of the greater part of Draco's Chocolate Frog Card collection in a vain attempt to distract her rumbling stomach. It felt emptier than the stadium at the last Chudley Cannons match, and Ginny wondered if it had started eating itself or had decided to change professions and embrace a long repressed dream of becoming a world-class yodeler.

Just as Ginny was coaxing a particularly stubborn Nicholas Flammel card into flight, ignoring his tiny squeaks of, "Man was not made to fly dear girl! Do a look like a flipping spring chicken to you?" a particularly loud throat clearing sounded behind her.

"Oh!" Ginny spun around, breaking concentration in the process and causing all the cards to come fluttering down around them. In this case 'Them' means Ginny and a particularly stuffy looking house elf. He wore a tablecloth that, in an impressive feat of engineering and optical illusion, was draped to resemble an itsy-bitsy, though debonair, tweed suit and held in front of him a covered plate in sterling silver.

"Miss?" began the house elf dryly, in a richly snotty accent, just as a Lord Stoddard Withers card came twirling down, merrily shouting, "I'm a bird! I'm a plane! I'm SUPER WITHERS!"

Super Withers landed directly on top of the house elf's wrinkled old head. He remained stoic. "I hope I'm not disturbing anything important."

Ginny had never met a sarcastic house elf before, but she supposed there was a first time for anything. Especially where Slytherin is concerned.

Ginny surveyed the after effects of her miniature Frog Card blizzard.

"You think Malfoy would fancy a game of fifty two thousand pick up?"

The house elf raised a disapproving eyebrow, at which point Ginny had the distinct feeling that he was looking down his lengthy nose at her, an astonishing accomplishment for someone less than two feet tall.

But he'd had years of practice.

"I would not presume to know what Master Malfoy finds entertaining," replied the elf.

"Well, let's hope he loathes it," replied Ginny, smiling. Then she remembered her visitor. "Who are you anyway? Did he send you?"

"I," proclaimed the elf with a bow, "am Jeeves."

"Fantastic," said Ginny, proving that Jeeves wasn't the only sarcastic one in the room, "and you're here to set me free I suppose."

Wishful thinking sweetheart.

"Not at all. I am here because Master Malfoy instructed me to bring you a bite to eat."

A particularly record-breaking growl sounded from Ginny's stomach at the very moment. She'd give an avalanche a run for its money.

Jeeves jumped.

He did, however, regain enough of his composure to remark, "You should know, Miss, that keeping grizzlies in the dormitory is quite against the rules."

Ginny went red.

"I'll, um, be sure to remember that," she said, giving Jeeves a frigid look. But she couldn't be too harsh with him. "You say you have some food?"

"Yes, Miss," replied Jeeves, removing the cover from the suddenly present dish in his hand, to reveal a small portion of somethings, light pink and glistening, artfully arranged on a lettuce leaf. He proceeded to place this on a fresh linen tablecloth. Moments later, a chair violently knocked into the back of Ginny's legs, prompting her to fall into place in front of a romantic presentation of five slimy pink somethings for one, complete with candelabra.

"What are those?" making a face unbefitting for someone on the brink of starvation.

"Prawns."

Jeeves was inching his way out of the room; afraid the plebian ignorance of a girl who couldn't tell a prawn from her Great Aunt Mildred would rub off on him.

Considering Mildred, it's harder than you'd think.

Ginny stood up, causing the table to shake dangerously. Jeeves was unfazed, unaware of the dangers of a wrathful Gryffindor girl.

"I haven't eaten for twenty four hours and he sends me a teaspoon's worth of prawns?!" yelled Ginny.

"I take it you are unsatisfied?" sighed Jeeves.

"Yes, I'm unsatisfied! I know I'm a prisoner, but the least he could do is send me a heaping platter of gruel! You know, something filling. "

In her fit of rage, Ginny seriously contemplated hurling the dish at the wall, but reconsidered. She'd rather throw it at Malfoy.