Author's Note: Argh. One day I'm going to be able to start off one of these without an apology. (But, alas, that day is not this day.) So here goes: once again, I'm sorry that I've taken forever and a day between updates. This chapter was a pain in the ass for me to write, as it's an awkward transitional part, but I've had it written for ages. I've finally had to accept that inspiration is just not going to strike with something brilliant and graceful to replace this craptastic mess, so I'm going to just scowl at it one more time and post the damn thing. The next chapter should be good, anyway. At least I hope.
God, I've probably jinxed it.
As ever, I sincerely thank everyone who reviewed, and particularly those of you who e-mailed me recently. You provided me with a much-needed boot to the ass. One of my New Year's resolutions is to finish this sucker before spring. Then I might even finish my other two! I know! A girl can dream!
And please remember: this story was conceived pre-OOTP, so if Ginny seems out of character in light of recent developments, uh. . . tough cookies.
Chapter Nine
Finding out what had happened to the two boys in the corridor might have been a tall order for Ginny Weasley two weeks ago, but it was alarmingly easy for anyone who had spent forty-eight hours in Draco Malfoy's unpleasant yet instructive company. A few wide-eyed questions for a Hufflepuff prefect here, some "we're-all-in-this-together" sympathetic nervousness for the benefit of a group of Ravenclaw third-years there, and the thing was done. The boy Draco had found crumpled on the floor was not, Ginny was relieved to learn, dead. The school librarian had found him the following morning, still crumpled in an unconscious heap. There had been no improvement in his condition since then, confided a knowledgeable medical ward aide from Ravenclaw, but there had also been no change for the worse. Madame Pomphrey was cautiously hopeful that the boy would eventually recover. No one seemed to know what had happened, but Ginny was cheered to learn that spiteful whispering about the Slytherins ran rampant.
The boy Draco had hexed was another- and in some ways thornier- problem, but he still hadn't raised any outcry. When she discovered that the boy hadn't so much as mentioned Draco's name, Ginny assumed either that the memory charm was still in place- it was quite possible, if Draco's agitation had led him to cast a stronger charm than he'd intended- or that the boy was simply too terrified of Draco's wrath to rat him out to a teacher. Regardless, Ginny couldn't discover that the boy had thus far said a single word to contradict Draco's Crabbe-and Goyle-spread story of being called away suddenly to deal with a family problem, so she simply tucked the information into her ever-increasing mental file marked "Malfoy's Problem, Let Him Deal With It".
Which just left Ron.
She was absolutely dreading lying to Ron. She'd never been any good at it- all the Weasleys save Fred and George blushed something fierce under pressure. As she trudged slowly up the tower staircase, she worried over potential holes in the flimsy story about extra credit work she'd concocted to explain her absence for the past two days. While they weren't as close as they had been when they were little, ever since her disastrous first year she had made a point of exchanging at least a few words with Ron every day, just to reassure him that she hadn't gotten herself into any. . . trouble. He and his friends were family, after all, and after their spectacular rescue of her during her first year she felt like she owed them the consideration. Ginny hadn't seen her brother since Friday at lunch, and he must, she was certain, be fretting over her whereabouts.
Climbing through the portrait hole and scanning the common room, Ginny caught a glimpse of bushy brown, messy black, and bright auburn heads huddled close together in a shadowy corner, murmuring to each other. How sweet. . . they're cooing like doves, she thought caustically, and then paused, surprised at the maliciousness of her own thoughts. Ugh. She gave a mental shudder. Too much time with Malfoy.
"Er, hullo, Ron," she said hesitantly as she approached the trio. There was a sudden flurry of activity as Harry scrambled to roll up a lengthy scroll of parchment, Hermione slammed a book closed so fast that it sent up a little puff of dust, and Ron, the tips of his ears flushing, stuffed something silvery up his tattered sleeve. "Um. Harry, Hermione. Hi." She gave an awkward little wave.
"'Lo, Ginny." Harry didn't quite meet her eyes. He never did. Hello, The-Boy-Who-Was-A-Spineless-Jackass. Ginny winced, shutting that thought off with a snap. Make that way too much time with Malfoy.
"Hello," Hermione said pleasantly. The older girl, always the most composed of the famous trio, was able to meet Ginny's gaze without flinching- but her usually friendly smile was strained.
"Hi, Gin." Ron nodded. His ears were still red. Ginny offered up a quick prayer that the flush wasn't a portent of a truly spectacular lecture. Ron's little "speeches" could rival Mum's for sound and fury.
Waiting resignedly for him to continue, Ginny dropped her gaze, examining the dull tips of her secondhand shoes. She wondered whether she should just kick off with an explanation or wait for Ron to finish shouting at her. She was unpleasantly aware of the blush spreading from her cheekbones to the roots of her hair. Please say you haven't owled Mum, please say you haven't owled Mum. . . .
"So, er. . . did you need something?" Ron asked.
Ginny's head snapped up. "What?"
"Well, it's just, y'know, that we're working on something here." He gestured vaguely toward Hermione's book. As she glanced at it, Ginny noted that Hermione automatically slid her hand down over the book's title.
"Potions," Harry added awkwardly. "Seventh year stuff." As neither he nor Ron were taking Potions, this excuse left something to be desired, but Ginny was too surprised by the discovery that her brother had not so much as noticed her absence to quibble over details.
"Right," Hermione said, now smiling through her teeth. "I have to help them through revisions, so. . . ."
"Right," Ginny said slowly, her mind spinning. "So sorry to bother you." And she turned on one shabby heel and walked away.
****
It was unpleasantly obvious, Ginny thought, her throat hot with tears, that no one cared a damn about her.
She had been missing for two straight days, and her so-called nearest and dearest hadn't even noticed. Just when, Ginny thought fiercely, rubbing the heel of her hand against one eye, would it have crossed someone's mind to wonder where she'd got to? When she failed to show up for their graduation? When Harry decided that he was finally willing to sit down and have his Very Important Bloody Talk with her? When Hermione and Ron needed a bridesmaid for their as-yet-unmentioned-but-inevitable wedding? Resentment coiled in her stomach. What in the name of all that was holy gave them right to be so damn self-centered?
Should have expected it, whispered a tiny, infuriatingly reasonable, massively condescending voice in her head. It sounded exactly like Draco. That constant saving-the-world-before-teatime takes up a bit of their time and attention, you selfish little cow. What do you matter, anyway? You're an inconvenience, nothing more. Needy- a distraction. They're not unkind, not really. Just too busy, too important, for the likes of you.
Shut up, Ginny told herself, with a quick mental shiver. She didn't need any snide dressing-downs from her own subconscious- if she wanted to listen to Draco Malfoy's voice being nasty to her, the genuine article himself would certainly oblige.
With a start, she realized that she needed to get back. Malfoy would be tetchy enough as it was. Doing her best to shrug off the brooding feeling of resentment toward her brother and his friends, she slipped out of the common room and headed back toward the opposite tower.
****
Malfoys didn't use words like "tetchy"- too vulgar by half- but if someone had been around to inquire as to his emotional state, Draco would have admitted to being a trifle irate. Then he would have thrown something at them. Where in the hell was the damn girl? Muttering obscenities, he shifted on the dusty sheets for what felt like the hundredth time, searching fruitlessly for a comfortable position. He was fairly certain that she hadn't betrayed his whereabouts- the lack of Ministry officials swarming through the house proved that- but she had quite probably left him here to die, the selfish little bitch. It had been hours, and the girl showed no signs of returning. He shifted yet again, morbidly brooding over his possible fates. Starvation seemed imminent. Gangrene- he wasn't entirely sure what that was, but was vaguely aware that it would involve discomfort and foul-smelling fluids, two of his least favorite things. Terminal sexual frustration- could you die of that? Probably. Of course, he'd get so fucking bored first that he'd have to fall on his wand-
And then, at long last, there was the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. Draco struggled up onto one elbow, groping for the wand he'd set on the bedside table, firmly squashing the wholly inappropriate- and disturbingly positive- feelings he was experiencing at the sight of Ginny Weasley's slim form in his bedroom doorway.
That way lay madness.
"Malfoy," said the girl flatly, giving him a little nod.
His brows rose at her tone. Hmm. It was obvious the girl was spoiling for a quarrel. Unfortunately, he didn't currently have the time or inclination to indulge her. "Well?" he demanded, in the tone of a general requiring a status report.
"The boy in corridor isn't dead, but he hasn't woken up, either," Ginny replied, her eyes bright with temper. "The other one hasn't said anything yet, but I don't know whether that's because he's scared stiff of you or simply hasn't recovered from whatever you threw at him."
Draco frowned over the news. Fuck, he still wasn't in the clear. "Still no idea as to what the boy was hit with?"
"No."
"And the other little brat could recover his memory at any time," he muttered, scowling at his sheets. Things were not going as he had hoped. His mind was already busily turning over various alternate plans, rejecting and modifying.
"Could happen at any minute, I reckon," Ginny said. "It was pretty stupid of you to have stunned him like that," she added maliciously. She even managed a credible sneer. "If you hadn't, it would have just been his word against yours, but as it is-"
Draco's pale brow went up again as he glanced up at her. "Is there a reason you're acting like a fishwife about this, little Weasel?" he inquired, his voice deceptively sweet. "Is it that time of the month, perhaps? Or do all of the women in your family turn into screeching, bitchy nags under pressure?"
Ginny flushed an unfortunate shade of maroon. "Piss off," she snapped.
"Such charming language, too," Draco said, his voice dripping with false admiration. "That's dished me."
Ginny bit her lip, ruining the sneer. Incidentally, all the women in her family did turn into bitchy nags under pressure, so she felt like she was on shaky ground. Recovering her expression, she gave a haughty little sniff and decided to change the subject. "And how's your side, Malfoy? Have you ruined that as well, or do you just muck up the lives of infant Hufflepuffs?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Hmm."
She walked forward, her brows drawing together. With a none-too-gentle tug, she pulled down the sheet to expose his neatly dressed wound- and was surprised to find herself slightly breathless at the sight of his broad, smoothly muscled chest. Not a little horrified at the direction her traitorous thoughts had momentarily taken, her scowl became even more pronounced as she peeled up an edge of the bandage. The wound itself looked well enough, if a little red and swollen around the edges.
"Wind'll change and your face will freeze like that," Draco murmured. He struggled up onto an elbow, his muscles shifting beautifully under his skin, and Ginny felt her face getting hot.
"What were you doing to yourself? It's all inflamed." Ginny glared at him, more ferociously than the slight inflammation deserved. "Stop trying to pull out my stitches, you halfwit."
"It was itchy," Draco said irritably.
"Lords above, Malfoy, don't be such a princess," she snapped, mildly cheered when he hissed at her. Still frowning, she traced the line of stitches with a gentle finger, her hand lingering for the tiniest moment on his flat abdomen. She stared at it. Bad hand. Her voice seemed to be coming from rather far away. "It's not too bad, I suppose." She paused, stepping back, her gaze drifting up to his shoulders. They really were lovely shoulders, she thought distractedly. Quidditch had been good to the bloodless little bastard.
He wasn't so little any longer, really. . . .
Perfectly appalled at herself, Ginny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What are we going to do, Malfoy?"
"About what?" Draco sounded a little distracted himself. God, her cool, slender fingers had felt wonderful. He resisted the urge to pull her hands back- flatten them against the hot skin along his ribcage.
"About everything," she snapped, his idiocy mercifully distracting her from his body. "Remember that poor boy you left for dead? Or are you too busy enjoying this little holiday in France's answer to the House of Usher? Merlin, Malfoy, were you planning to actually complete your Hogwarts education before trotting off to whatever Death Eater finishing school your daddy's picked out for you?" Her voice rose. "Or how about we have a little chat about giving me my damn wand back? There's no bloody reason for me to be here any longer."
Draco gave her his best supercilious stare. "I do assure you, Weasley, I have a plan. It does rely rather heavily on you-" he broke off, once again trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position.
Ginny looked up at the sudden silence, her mouth falling open, utterly staggered that Draco Malfoy would admit to needing her help- without even tossing in a few gratuitous insults. Lord and Lady, perhaps he's been hurt more badly than I thought. . . .
But then he continued, his voice and manner dripping disdain. "-a vulgar, incompetent, mouthy little nothing of a girl that I wouldn't ordinarily trust to tie her own ragged shoelaces. But I think it might work, despite your truly staggering handicaps."
Right then, Ginny thought, closing her mouth with a snap. He'll be fine.
TBC
Next up: Ginny's going to be. . . THE MOLE.
God, I've probably jinxed it.
As ever, I sincerely thank everyone who reviewed, and particularly those of you who e-mailed me recently. You provided me with a much-needed boot to the ass. One of my New Year's resolutions is to finish this sucker before spring. Then I might even finish my other two! I know! A girl can dream!
And please remember: this story was conceived pre-OOTP, so if Ginny seems out of character in light of recent developments, uh. . . tough cookies.
Chapter Nine
Finding out what had happened to the two boys in the corridor might have been a tall order for Ginny Weasley two weeks ago, but it was alarmingly easy for anyone who had spent forty-eight hours in Draco Malfoy's unpleasant yet instructive company. A few wide-eyed questions for a Hufflepuff prefect here, some "we're-all-in-this-together" sympathetic nervousness for the benefit of a group of Ravenclaw third-years there, and the thing was done. The boy Draco had found crumpled on the floor was not, Ginny was relieved to learn, dead. The school librarian had found him the following morning, still crumpled in an unconscious heap. There had been no improvement in his condition since then, confided a knowledgeable medical ward aide from Ravenclaw, but there had also been no change for the worse. Madame Pomphrey was cautiously hopeful that the boy would eventually recover. No one seemed to know what had happened, but Ginny was cheered to learn that spiteful whispering about the Slytherins ran rampant.
The boy Draco had hexed was another- and in some ways thornier- problem, but he still hadn't raised any outcry. When she discovered that the boy hadn't so much as mentioned Draco's name, Ginny assumed either that the memory charm was still in place- it was quite possible, if Draco's agitation had led him to cast a stronger charm than he'd intended- or that the boy was simply too terrified of Draco's wrath to rat him out to a teacher. Regardless, Ginny couldn't discover that the boy had thus far said a single word to contradict Draco's Crabbe-and Goyle-spread story of being called away suddenly to deal with a family problem, so she simply tucked the information into her ever-increasing mental file marked "Malfoy's Problem, Let Him Deal With It".
Which just left Ron.
She was absolutely dreading lying to Ron. She'd never been any good at it- all the Weasleys save Fred and George blushed something fierce under pressure. As she trudged slowly up the tower staircase, she worried over potential holes in the flimsy story about extra credit work she'd concocted to explain her absence for the past two days. While they weren't as close as they had been when they were little, ever since her disastrous first year she had made a point of exchanging at least a few words with Ron every day, just to reassure him that she hadn't gotten herself into any. . . trouble. He and his friends were family, after all, and after their spectacular rescue of her during her first year she felt like she owed them the consideration. Ginny hadn't seen her brother since Friday at lunch, and he must, she was certain, be fretting over her whereabouts.
Climbing through the portrait hole and scanning the common room, Ginny caught a glimpse of bushy brown, messy black, and bright auburn heads huddled close together in a shadowy corner, murmuring to each other. How sweet. . . they're cooing like doves, she thought caustically, and then paused, surprised at the maliciousness of her own thoughts. Ugh. She gave a mental shudder. Too much time with Malfoy.
"Er, hullo, Ron," she said hesitantly as she approached the trio. There was a sudden flurry of activity as Harry scrambled to roll up a lengthy scroll of parchment, Hermione slammed a book closed so fast that it sent up a little puff of dust, and Ron, the tips of his ears flushing, stuffed something silvery up his tattered sleeve. "Um. Harry, Hermione. Hi." She gave an awkward little wave.
"'Lo, Ginny." Harry didn't quite meet her eyes. He never did. Hello, The-Boy-Who-Was-A-Spineless-Jackass. Ginny winced, shutting that thought off with a snap. Make that way too much time with Malfoy.
"Hello," Hermione said pleasantly. The older girl, always the most composed of the famous trio, was able to meet Ginny's gaze without flinching- but her usually friendly smile was strained.
"Hi, Gin." Ron nodded. His ears were still red. Ginny offered up a quick prayer that the flush wasn't a portent of a truly spectacular lecture. Ron's little "speeches" could rival Mum's for sound and fury.
Waiting resignedly for him to continue, Ginny dropped her gaze, examining the dull tips of her secondhand shoes. She wondered whether she should just kick off with an explanation or wait for Ron to finish shouting at her. She was unpleasantly aware of the blush spreading from her cheekbones to the roots of her hair. Please say you haven't owled Mum, please say you haven't owled Mum. . . .
"So, er. . . did you need something?" Ron asked.
Ginny's head snapped up. "What?"
"Well, it's just, y'know, that we're working on something here." He gestured vaguely toward Hermione's book. As she glanced at it, Ginny noted that Hermione automatically slid her hand down over the book's title.
"Potions," Harry added awkwardly. "Seventh year stuff." As neither he nor Ron were taking Potions, this excuse left something to be desired, but Ginny was too surprised by the discovery that her brother had not so much as noticed her absence to quibble over details.
"Right," Hermione said, now smiling through her teeth. "I have to help them through revisions, so. . . ."
"Right," Ginny said slowly, her mind spinning. "So sorry to bother you." And she turned on one shabby heel and walked away.
****
It was unpleasantly obvious, Ginny thought, her throat hot with tears, that no one cared a damn about her.
She had been missing for two straight days, and her so-called nearest and dearest hadn't even noticed. Just when, Ginny thought fiercely, rubbing the heel of her hand against one eye, would it have crossed someone's mind to wonder where she'd got to? When she failed to show up for their graduation? When Harry decided that he was finally willing to sit down and have his Very Important Bloody Talk with her? When Hermione and Ron needed a bridesmaid for their as-yet-unmentioned-but-inevitable wedding? Resentment coiled in her stomach. What in the name of all that was holy gave them right to be so damn self-centered?
Should have expected it, whispered a tiny, infuriatingly reasonable, massively condescending voice in her head. It sounded exactly like Draco. That constant saving-the-world-before-teatime takes up a bit of their time and attention, you selfish little cow. What do you matter, anyway? You're an inconvenience, nothing more. Needy- a distraction. They're not unkind, not really. Just too busy, too important, for the likes of you.
Shut up, Ginny told herself, with a quick mental shiver. She didn't need any snide dressing-downs from her own subconscious- if she wanted to listen to Draco Malfoy's voice being nasty to her, the genuine article himself would certainly oblige.
With a start, she realized that she needed to get back. Malfoy would be tetchy enough as it was. Doing her best to shrug off the brooding feeling of resentment toward her brother and his friends, she slipped out of the common room and headed back toward the opposite tower.
****
Malfoys didn't use words like "tetchy"- too vulgar by half- but if someone had been around to inquire as to his emotional state, Draco would have admitted to being a trifle irate. Then he would have thrown something at them. Where in the hell was the damn girl? Muttering obscenities, he shifted on the dusty sheets for what felt like the hundredth time, searching fruitlessly for a comfortable position. He was fairly certain that she hadn't betrayed his whereabouts- the lack of Ministry officials swarming through the house proved that- but she had quite probably left him here to die, the selfish little bitch. It had been hours, and the girl showed no signs of returning. He shifted yet again, morbidly brooding over his possible fates. Starvation seemed imminent. Gangrene- he wasn't entirely sure what that was, but was vaguely aware that it would involve discomfort and foul-smelling fluids, two of his least favorite things. Terminal sexual frustration- could you die of that? Probably. Of course, he'd get so fucking bored first that he'd have to fall on his wand-
And then, at long last, there was the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs. Draco struggled up onto one elbow, groping for the wand he'd set on the bedside table, firmly squashing the wholly inappropriate- and disturbingly positive- feelings he was experiencing at the sight of Ginny Weasley's slim form in his bedroom doorway.
That way lay madness.
"Malfoy," said the girl flatly, giving him a little nod.
His brows rose at her tone. Hmm. It was obvious the girl was spoiling for a quarrel. Unfortunately, he didn't currently have the time or inclination to indulge her. "Well?" he demanded, in the tone of a general requiring a status report.
"The boy in corridor isn't dead, but he hasn't woken up, either," Ginny replied, her eyes bright with temper. "The other one hasn't said anything yet, but I don't know whether that's because he's scared stiff of you or simply hasn't recovered from whatever you threw at him."
Draco frowned over the news. Fuck, he still wasn't in the clear. "Still no idea as to what the boy was hit with?"
"No."
"And the other little brat could recover his memory at any time," he muttered, scowling at his sheets. Things were not going as he had hoped. His mind was already busily turning over various alternate plans, rejecting and modifying.
"Could happen at any minute, I reckon," Ginny said. "It was pretty stupid of you to have stunned him like that," she added maliciously. She even managed a credible sneer. "If you hadn't, it would have just been his word against yours, but as it is-"
Draco's pale brow went up again as he glanced up at her. "Is there a reason you're acting like a fishwife about this, little Weasel?" he inquired, his voice deceptively sweet. "Is it that time of the month, perhaps? Or do all of the women in your family turn into screeching, bitchy nags under pressure?"
Ginny flushed an unfortunate shade of maroon. "Piss off," she snapped.
"Such charming language, too," Draco said, his voice dripping with false admiration. "That's dished me."
Ginny bit her lip, ruining the sneer. Incidentally, all the women in her family did turn into bitchy nags under pressure, so she felt like she was on shaky ground. Recovering her expression, she gave a haughty little sniff and decided to change the subject. "And how's your side, Malfoy? Have you ruined that as well, or do you just muck up the lives of infant Hufflepuffs?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Hmm."
She walked forward, her brows drawing together. With a none-too-gentle tug, she pulled down the sheet to expose his neatly dressed wound- and was surprised to find herself slightly breathless at the sight of his broad, smoothly muscled chest. Not a little horrified at the direction her traitorous thoughts had momentarily taken, her scowl became even more pronounced as she peeled up an edge of the bandage. The wound itself looked well enough, if a little red and swollen around the edges.
"Wind'll change and your face will freeze like that," Draco murmured. He struggled up onto an elbow, his muscles shifting beautifully under his skin, and Ginny felt her face getting hot.
"What were you doing to yourself? It's all inflamed." Ginny glared at him, more ferociously than the slight inflammation deserved. "Stop trying to pull out my stitches, you halfwit."
"It was itchy," Draco said irritably.
"Lords above, Malfoy, don't be such a princess," she snapped, mildly cheered when he hissed at her. Still frowning, she traced the line of stitches with a gentle finger, her hand lingering for the tiniest moment on his flat abdomen. She stared at it. Bad hand. Her voice seemed to be coming from rather far away. "It's not too bad, I suppose." She paused, stepping back, her gaze drifting up to his shoulders. They really were lovely shoulders, she thought distractedly. Quidditch had been good to the bloodless little bastard.
He wasn't so little any longer, really. . . .
Perfectly appalled at herself, Ginny closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What are we going to do, Malfoy?"
"About what?" Draco sounded a little distracted himself. God, her cool, slender fingers had felt wonderful. He resisted the urge to pull her hands back- flatten them against the hot skin along his ribcage.
"About everything," she snapped, his idiocy mercifully distracting her from his body. "Remember that poor boy you left for dead? Or are you too busy enjoying this little holiday in France's answer to the House of Usher? Merlin, Malfoy, were you planning to actually complete your Hogwarts education before trotting off to whatever Death Eater finishing school your daddy's picked out for you?" Her voice rose. "Or how about we have a little chat about giving me my damn wand back? There's no bloody reason for me to be here any longer."
Draco gave her his best supercilious stare. "I do assure you, Weasley, I have a plan. It does rely rather heavily on you-" he broke off, once again trying to shift himself into a more comfortable position.
Ginny looked up at the sudden silence, her mouth falling open, utterly staggered that Draco Malfoy would admit to needing her help- without even tossing in a few gratuitous insults. Lord and Lady, perhaps he's been hurt more badly than I thought. . . .
But then he continued, his voice and manner dripping disdain. "-a vulgar, incompetent, mouthy little nothing of a girl that I wouldn't ordinarily trust to tie her own ragged shoelaces. But I think it might work, despite your truly staggering handicaps."
Right then, Ginny thought, closing her mouth with a snap. He'll be fine.
TBC
Next up: Ginny's going to be. . . THE MOLE.