Fevered dreams haunted Draco as he lay on the sofa. He dreamt of red eyes and snakes and of a red-headed girl with a fiery temper. A phoenix flew overhead and burst into flames, ashes raining down. The girl stared at him, pain in her eyes, and the question: why? He looked down and saw Dumbledore's body lying at his feet. He shook his head, and tried to tell her, no, he didn't do it, but he couldn't speak. He awoke gasping for breath.
Draco sat up suddenly, bumping Ginny's head and waking her in the process. He stared at her for a moment, completely confused by her presence and by his surroundings. Then he remembered the events of the night before. He remembered saying her name, for the first time out loud. He'd always called her Weasley before. She just looked at him though, no anger or fear or hatred in her eyes.
"How are you feeling?" was all she said.
"Like I could eat a hippogriff," he said. She hid a smile, remembering stories of his run-in with the hippogriff in his third year. She picked up the broth and waving her wand in stirring motions, handed it to him, once again steaming hot. He held it with both hands and drank every last bit, then held it out to her again. "Thank you," he said, as politely as if it had been the finest feast and he himself in dress robes. She took it from him then rose and went into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with some toast.
"Try to eat that, you could use something solid in you." She realized that she sounded exactly like her mother, and found herself resisting the urge to say "poor dear" to him. A Malfoy would probably chew her finger off. She reminded herself that no matter how weak he was, he was still a Malfoy and probably still full of his rich pure-blooded pedigree. Draco shivered a bit, and the temporary hostility that she had felt faded with concern for him. She flicked her wand at the fireplace and suddenly a fire was roaring where before there had been nothingness. He stared at her. Never had he known how powerful she was. She smiled a little at him, shyly. He ducked his head, embarrassed. He had of course pre-judged her. He remembered first year telling Potter that some wizarding families are better than others. He suddenly felt as if it were true, but that the Weasleys were a far better bunch than the Malfoys.
"I'm sorry," he said. She thought to herself that he must be delirious. Malfoys didn't apologize. "For what," she asked, indulging a sick boy.
"For always making fun of your family. I wish I was a Weasley." Now she knew he was delirious, so she firmly told him,
"You're going up to bed until you're better." He meekly obeyed, leaning on her as they made their way up the stairs. Halfway up, it occurred to her that this was Harry's house and that she shouldn't just place Draco wherever she pleased, so she ended up leading him to her bedroom and tucking him into her bed. She grimly thought that Ron would have a fit, but then decided that it wasn't any of his business. After all, Draco was sick. It wasn't as if…she pushed the thought out of her head. It was absolutely ridiculous. He would be back to being an arrogant prat as soon as he had the energy.
