Author's Note, with Accompanying Apology:
Heh. Been gone awhile, haven't I? I can only say that I'm sorry, and that I've been A) busy and B) lazy. Also, that I probably would have continued to be lazy for quite a bit longer if it wasn't for the emails and reviews I've received. Thank you all very much. I hope I haven't lost all my readers.
Added 3/8/03
I've been trying to post this for two days, but FF.net is being uppity. Hopefully this will go up.
Disclaimer:
Not mine.
Dedication: To Meg, JAY JAY, Amber, MoniLuv325, and Hyun Suk Park Cho, who have clearly learned the fine art of mixing flattery with nagging. I really appreciated your emails. And for Kori and Crystal, who actually helped me get this damn thing on the web.
Chapter Seven
2:07 AM
Draco woke up to a pounding headache, a hot, stabbing pain in his side, and
the less-than-musical sound of Ginny Weasley muttering what sounded like a
lecture at him. "...all quite your own fault, you know. Did I ask you
to attack me? No, I most certainly did not. Or get disgustingly drunk? Again,
no. Or
kidnap me? No." She paused. "Well, maybe a bit. But the rest of it
was all you, Malfoy, so if this hurts, well, um... good." Draco barely
had time to register the sensation of liquid being poured over the wound in
his side before the sharp pain flamed unbearably and he returned to the land
of the blissfully unconscious.
****
2:13 AM
He awoke again a few moments later and immediately wished that he hadn't. Ginny
was sewing his side together with tiny, precise stitches, a brace of candles
set nearby. "What what are you doing?" he gasped. God, he
could feel the thread slowly pulling through his flesh. It was ghastly.
Ginny didn't look up. "Fixing you. I couldn't discover where you'd hidden
my wand, and, well, yours doesn't seem to like me, so I'm doing this the muggle
way. Now," she said, her voice grim, "Unless
you intend to produce my wand- which is what any sane person would do- shut
up. You're distracting me."
Trying to focus past the pain, Draco considered his situation. He was in considerable
discomfort, but things could be worse. He was quite good at judging the severity
of injuries, and this didn't feel life-threatening. Painful as all hell, but
not fatal. "Weasley?"
"Hmm?"
"You do know what you're doing, right? I realize that you must have plenty
of experience mending tattered things, but this is my-"
"Don't fret, Malfoy," Ginny said dryly. "I have lots of experience with stitches.
I am Fred and George's little sister." A faint, wry smile ghosted around
her mouth. "We're all quite good at patching each other up. It was usually
best not to let my mother know about the occasional scrape," she said conversationally,
pausing to peer at her handiwork. "There. It'll leave a scar, but you'll survive.
Of course, if you don't want a scar marring your-"
"Exquisite physique?" Draco interrupted, his voice raspy.
"-skinny, pasty chest," she continued calmly, ignoring him. She stood, stretching
slowly, her joints popping, "Then you'll have to turn over my wand or try to
heal yourself."
"And have you setting off every alarm the Ministry's got?" He shifted slightly,
hissing at the pain. "Thanks ever so, Weasel, but I think not." Taking a deep
breath, Draco attempted to sit up- and promptly passed out again.
****
2:21
"Well, that was just idiotic, Malfoy," Ginny was saying irritably. "What
are you trying to do?"
One grey eye cracked open. "Ow."
Ginny- actually, six rather blurry Ginnys, but he was really hoping he'd be
down to one in a minute- was standing beside him, hands on her slim hips, a
look of pure disgust on her pale little face. "Are you trying to tear
my stitches? What, is the thread not good enough? Let me guess- Malfoys need
to be stitched with cloth of gold."
A thought occurred to him, snaking through the pain. If there weren't actually
six Ginnys, how did she manage to get him into a bed? No wand. Couldn't have
lifted him- and she was a puny little thing.
"I am NOT puny," Ginny snapped, alerting Draco to the fact that he had apparently been talking out loud. "And I levitated your chair. Your stupid wand let me do that much, at least. I thought about levitating you," she continued waspishly, "but
if you got splinched, who'd clear up the mess?"
"Y'know, I don't remember you being this bitchy, Weasel. In fact," Draco whispered,
pain lending a sharp edge to his temper. "I hardly remember you at all. Just
a sad, ugly little shadow, drifting around Hogwarts, mooning after Potter.
Actually, you and that ridiculous ghost in the girls' lavatory- what's her
name? Mildred?- make quite a pair-"
A tight, pinched look had appeared around the edges of Ginny's mouth, but her
voice was quiet and steady. "Don't, Malfoy."
"I hear she fancies Potter as well-"
"Shut up , Malfoy."
"But," Draco finished maliciously, his eyelids fluttering shut, "She probably
has a better chance of getting him."
"I don't fancy Harry!" Ginny snapped, her composure worn thin.
He could hear the tears in her voice, and felt a tiny bit better. Good.
Someone else should be in pain. He shouldn't have to suffer alone.
"I don't," she repeated, her voice a whisper.
"Since when?" Draco didn't particularly care, but fighting with the Weasel helped
to distract him from the pain.
"Fifth year."
"Why?" Some of the animosity left his tone, leaving behind what sounded
like honest curiosity.
Ginny stared at him. The pale boy was lying flat on his back, eyes shut, brows
drawn together, and an unsightly bandage made from a torn-up pillowcase wrapped
tightly around his chest. "Why do you want to know?" she asked finally.
Draco shifted one shoulder a fraction, the closest he could get to a shrug. "Christ,
I don't care, Weasel. Look, your love life is not ordinarily something I give
much thought to. Just curious, I suppose."
"He told me I had to wait," she blurted out, much to her own surprise. She'd
never told anyone about the conversation she and Harry had had one hazy summer
afternoon, alone in the Burrow, and couldn't imagine why she was doing so now.
A silence fell. "Wait for what?" Draco finally inquired, mildly interested. "Sex?"
"No," Ginny half-shouted, her cheeks flushing. "Him."
Draco gave a weak chuckle. "He said you had to wait for him? Like 'Sit,
Weasley! Stay!'?"
Ginny smiled a little. She couldn't help it. The memory of Harry sitting down
on the narrow chair in her hot, narrow bedroom, both of them blushing to the
ears, his green eyes serious, was still hideously fresh. "Exactly like. He
was really nice, really kind, but he acted like I was a particularly loyal
pet. Or a doll- something he could leave on a shelf and play with later. He
was visiting us for the end of the summer, and one day he just walked into
my room and explained that he knew that I had feelings for him, and that I'd
have to wait, but after everything was over, he'd- he'd...."
"Play with you?" Draco finished snidely.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mind out of the gutter, Malfoy. But, er, yes. We could, y'know, see each other." Her voice sharpened. "When he was
ready. When his life was perfect. Meanwhile, I would naturally wait
patiently for the good news that he was ready to date me."
Draco smirked. "Weasley, I've been saying for years that the boy has
a swelled head." He quirked a brow. "Didn't quite think that you'd be the first
non-Slytherin to agree with me, though."
Ginny shrugged a little, still blushing. She still didn't understand why she
was telling him this. For some reason, whispering her secrets to Draco Malfoy-
heartless bastard extraordinaire- was frighteningly easy in the quiet, candlelit
room. "I don't, not really. Harry's great, it's just that I want...." She trailed
off. Someone to want me enough to not care whether or not it's the perfect
time, she finished silently.
"Want what?" Draco asked. His attention was beginning to fade in and out, exhaustion
and pain wearing him thin.
"Nothing," she said firmly, smothering her own enormous yawn. "Shouldn't have said anything." She grinned faintly, leaning back in her chair and rubbing at the delicate shadows beneath her eyes. "With any luck, you'll forget everything I just said. Now shut up, Malfoy. You need rest." She
reached out a slim, freckled hand and snuffed the candles.
Willing, for once in his young, disagreeable life, to be obliging, Draco Malfoy shut his eyes and slipped gratefully into sleep.
****
6:48 AM
When Draco next woke, Ginny was asleep in the chair beside him, her head and upper arms pillowed on the bed. With an odd, sinking sensation in his stomach, Draco realized that at some point in the past few hours he had slid his hand into the thick, coppercolored mass of Virginia Weasley's hair and had tangled several strands loosely around his fingers.
And the color- damn it, damn it, damn it- he thought with sudden horror,
was rather starting to grow on him.
To Be Continued- Soon! I promise!