Her maid, Letty, joined her on the stoop. "Gracious! Is it truly Harry Potter, then?"
Ginny rolled him onto his back, then waved Letty to take his shoulders while she stopped to lift his booted feet. 'The late Harry Potter is what he'll be if we don't get him inside quickly."
"Tim! Get out here, lad." Letty bent and grasped the wide shoulders filling a heavy greatcoat. "Oomph!" Letty blew out a breath as she hefted him up. "No lightweight, this one."
Ginny said nothing as they shuffled the weight that was far too dead for her liking over the threshold. A vise had clamped about her heart----she could barely breathe. They laid him down on the hall runner. Tim, their boy-of-all-work, came running from the kitchen; Letty shooed him to bring in the other man.
Ginny knelt by Harry's head. She tried to brush back the dark lock from his forehead, only to find it frozen. "Aunt Pansy!"
"Yes, dear? Good gracious heavens!" Thin and stooped, Aunt Pansy stopped in the doorway from the parlor and stared down at the figure lying flat on his back on the rug. "Is that Potter?"
"Yes, and I think that must be Moony." Ginny waved as Tim and Letty brought the other man in. "You remember Moony?"
"Oh, indeed," Aunt Pansy peered at the shorter man. "I always wondered if he was still with Potter."
Ginny succeeded in pulling off Harry's driving gloves. She found his hands iced, whiter than white, colder than death. "We'll need hot bricks and hot water---plenty of it. " Ginny scrambled to her feet as Letty shut the door.
Ginny looked to Tim. "Run upstairs and charm the blankets warm, also set a blazing fire in the two guest rooms. We have to get them warm as quickly as possible."
"Aye, your right there." Letty straightened from examining Moony's head. "This one's got a nasty gash on his head on top of being frozen still."
"I'll put the kettle on." Aunt Pansy set off for the kitchen. "Banish their clothes down and I'll clean them right up."
Letty turned to Ginny. "We can hardly strip them in the hall, we'll need to get them upstairs."
Ginny whirled. "Fire whiskey----that should help."
She was tempted to take a sip herself. Harry, here and chilled to death. She couldn't take it all in. Grabbing the whiskey as it flew to her she eased out the stopper, Ginny tried to make her lungs work, so she could draw in a proper breath. Her gaze roamed the large body spread-eagled in her hall, making it seem cluttered and close.
"Here." Letty reappeared with two medicine glasses. "Easier to get it down if you use one of these."
Ginny sloshed a healthy dose into each glass, then set down the decanter. While Letty ministered to Moony, Ginny knelt again by Harry's head. Setting the glass down, she slid her hands beneath his shoulders. Hefting and wriggling, she managed to get his head into her lap. Leaning over him, she carefully coaxed a little whiskey between his frozen lips. It seemed to go in; she tipped in a little more, then tugged at the collar of his shirt. The linen was frozen stiff, but where the ice was thawing, it was limp and damp.
"No luck here," Letty straightened. "Right out of it, he is." She turned to Ginny.
"Lets get them upstairs. Once they are settled we will have to check on them through out the night."
"True enough." Letty turned to the stairs. "I'll make up the beds."
Ginny nodded, her attention on Harry. She administered a little more whiskey, then wrestled again with his shirt---and was rewarded when he swallowed.
"Here---have some more." She pressed the glass to his lips again. This time they parted. When she removed the glass, his tongue came out and gingerly dampened his chapped lips. When she offered the glass again, he drank deeply, then his eye lids flickered.
Grabbing the end of his scarf, Ginny gently wiped the shards of ice from his eyes and brow.
Beautiful, emerald green eyes slowly opened. He looked up, into her face. "Ginny?"
It took a moment to gather her wits. Seven years it had been since she'd last seen those eyes this close---close enough to feel their power. Green eyes---predator's eyes; they still held that primeval pull. "Yes, it's me," she finally managed. Then, realizing the cause of his befuddlement, she added, "I live here now."
She offered the fire whiskey again and he accepted another sip. "Can you sit?" Without waiting for an answer, she pushed and heaved, uncaring of the water splotches darkening her wool pants. She helped him raise his shoulders until he was sitting, but he was to weak to sit without her support.
Ginny frowned. "We need to get you out of your overcoat." Much of it was still heavily encrusted with ice.
Hands and arms and shoulders went everywhere, but with his help, clumsy though he was, she finally pulled the long drab coat, from him. She flung it aside, balancing him with one hand. All of his clothes were affected --all would have to come off.
"Give me some more of that fire whiskey."
She obliged. He took the glass from her, but she had to prop him up. She knew what he---his body, his muscled torso---should feel like; his deeply iced flesh sent a chill of fear through her.
He handed her the empty glass. "All right. Let's try it."
Removing his elegant, closely fitted coat was a much harder task than removing his loose overcoat. Despite the tussle, Ginny was grateful that he was awake enough to help.
Ginny pushed and pulled and shuffled him until he was close enough to the wall to lean back against it.
He did, closing his eyes. "Thank you."
Ginny was seriously alarmed. He was icy cold. So uncharacteristically weak. "Have some more firewiskey." She grabbed the decanter and filled the glass again, then pressed it into his hand. "I'm going to make sure your room is fixed."
She raced up the stairs, chased by a vision of his deathly pale face. Using her wand she made the pillows warm and moved the bed over by the roaring fire.
She ran into Letty in the hallway. "If you and Tim can manage Moony, I'll take care of Harry."
Letty made a swift glance about the rooms and nodded. "Let's bring them up, then."
Ginny left them to heft Moony between them and went to Harry's side. He was leaning back against the wall, eyes closed, the empty glass at his side. His linen shirt was damp and clinging, displaying the powerful muscles of his chest. As she crouched beside him, he murmured, "How's Moony,"
"He's still unconscious. They're taking him upstairs." Ginny squeezed his arm gently. "If I help, do you think you can manage the stairs?"
His lids slowly lifted. He met her gaze, then looked past her to the stairs. "Hmm." His lips twisted twisted slightly, his brows drew down, but his face was too stiff for him to frown properly. "We can but try."
Getting him on his feet was the first hurdle. Once Ginny was able to get him upright, he swayed and staggered. Ginny was glad there was no one to see them waltz drunkenly about her hall.
As they stumbled to a stop before the stairs, Harry looked down, into her face, and smiled. "Never waltzed with you, did I, Ginny?"
She looked down. "No, you never did. Now concentrate on the stairs or I'll use my wand on you and bounce you all the way up."
Harry grabbed the banister and after some effort, made it to the first step.
He paused on the step. "I'm on my way to Potter's Place, y'know."
"You said you were going home." Ginny tried to tug him on, but without his cooperation she couldn't shift him.
"Hmmmm---s'right. Home."
He started to take the next step. Ginny shot him a sharp glance as he paused again.
"Had enough, y'know."
"Enough of what?" She paused, too, accepting that he'd go at his own pace.
"Them." It was with evident difficulty that he focused on her face. "You know what they call me?"
"I know you're called 'Scandalous Harry Potter.'"
The smile that twisted his lips was bitter. "The scandalous part's all they care 'bout----you know that?"
"I assumed that might be the case." Ginny managed to propel him to another step. Then another. She was hoping he'd continue on without pause when he abruptly drew back, nearly falling out of her arms. Only his grip on the banister saved him.
"Harpies! The lot of them."
He flung out an arm---Ginny had to duck, then she grabbed him again, more tightly.
"You must come upstairs---"
"That's 'xactly what they all tell me," He nodded and consented to climb another step. "Come upstairs---to my boudoir, my bedroom, my bed. Come into my arms, come into my---.
"Harry!" Ginny felt her cheeks heat. "You don't need to tell me about that."
Tilting his head, he looked down at her, the expression in his gorgeous green eyes puzzled. "But I always tell you everything, Ginny."
There was a lost look in his eyes that, entirely unexpectedly, wrenched Ginny's heart. "That was then, " she said gently, "this is now---and we have to get you upstairs."
She urged him on; after an instant hesitation he went. She could feel how stiff he was. She knew she had to warm him up quick. They reached the landing and she steered him on to the next flight of stairs. They were halfway up it when he abruptly halted, turning to look at her pulling out of her hold and leaning back----half over the banister!
Ginny gasped and grabbed him. He caught her in his free arm and hugged her to him. For an instant they teetered, then steadied.
"You're not like them, are you, Ginny?"
Her heart was in her throat---she couldn't answer. She prayed the banister was strong enough to hold their weight.
"You're my friend---you always have been. You don't want anything from me, not like they do."
Her forehead against his shoulder, Ginny closed her eyes and clung, too shaken to reply.
Then she felt him nuzzle the hair coiled on the top of her head, then trail lower to dip his nose behind her ear. He breathed in, deeply.
"You smell of the moor---all wild and free and open.
Ginny pulled back, out of his arms, hands locked in his shirt, arms braced for balance. "Up the next steps---come on, you can do it." She pushed and prodded, harried and bullied. Finally gaining the first floor, she blew out a breath, then staggered as he did.
"Harry!" "It's just a little further."
They looked like drunken seaman, making their way down the hallway. Ginny paused as they made it to the door. As she studied his face she noticed his eyes were almost shut. "If you fall asleep on me, I'll bat boogey you, do you hear me Harry."
His lips twisted, but his eyes remained closed. "Never ever fall asleep before a lady's satisfied. Carnal rule number one."
Ginny humphed. "In this case, I'm not going to be satisfied until you're out of those damp clothes and tucked up in bed." She pushed to door open.
"Out of my clothes, tucked into your bed---you're sounding like them, Ginny."
"Well, I'm not---Harry."
He pulled out of his arms and went lurching into the room and fell onto the bed.
Ginny regarded him, frowning. "Harry, when did you last eat?"
He settled on the bed, sitting straight, and frowned back at her as he thought. "Breakfast?"
Ginny humphed again. "No wonder! Your half drunk."
He sighed, then closed his eyes. "Tired. So tired..."
His voice died away, and he fell back across the bed.
"Harry." She shook his shoulder. "Come on, wake up."
He lay like one dead.
"Damn!" Sitting beside him, she glared at him. "How am I supposed to get you undressed?"
The answer was obvious. Heaving a sigh, Ginny crossed to the door and clicked the lock. She didn't want anyone coming in, seeing her strip Harry.
Returning to the bed, she surveyed her charge, then pushed and tugged until he lay straight in the middle of the wide bed.
He was still icy cold. The thought that he'd used his last ounce of strength in climbing the stairs spurred Ginny on. She yanked his collar open, then fell on the buttons. The material was damp, so the buttons were difficult to shift. She pulled her wand out of her pocked and muttered a spell that removed Harry's shirt from his body.
An instant later, she swayed---she'd forgotten to breathe.
She sucked in a breath, then went to work on his pants. "You've seen it all before, you ninny!"
But she hadn't. Eight years it had been, and eight years made a difference. Her senses insisted on pointing out each change---the dept of his chest, the heavier muscles, the changes in proportions. She was an artist after all, and her eyes couldn't stop seeing. She'd thought him an Adonis eight years ago; now...
She shook her head again and looked away.
Without giving her time to think, she used her wand to strip him of his remaining clothes. She then grabbed a towel and set to work, briskly rubbing him all over.
To her dismay, although she dried his back thoroughly, his flesh remained pale and icy cold. There was no warmth in him; not even when she pressed a hand under his stomach could she feel any hint of human heat.
Her heart began to feel as cold as his skin.
"Miss?" Tim knocked at the door. "I've brought hot water."
She swept up Harry's wet clothes and opened the door. "Thank you---take these to Aunt Pansy. But first warm some bricks and wrap them in flannel, then bring them up."
"Miss Pansy's already got the bricks ready."
"Good." she shut the door. Ginny carried the steaming water over to a nearby dresser. After testing the water, she grabbed a washcloth and climbed onto the bed, settling the basin of water beside her. Harry hadn't stirred.
She washed his face first, then washed the ice from his hair and rubbed it dry, then quickly worked her way down his body. Settling some towels to his side, she eased him over onto them. She threw a towel over his penis. She quickly set to washing away this side of his body, briskly buffing his skin dry as she went.
By the time she reached his hips, all modesty had flown---she was far too worried to care about propriety. There remained no sign of life in his body; fear tightened its grip on her heart.
Besides, she'd seen him naked before, touched him before---her memories were crystal clear. But when she held him again and found him so cold, it nearly broke her heart. She'd taken that part of him inside her--it had been so hot, so strong. He was presently so icy and so small--she didn't like this state at all.
She became more worried when his skin looked no better. No matter how hard she tried, she could raise no blood under his skin.
She rolled him on his stomach again to remove the wet coverlet, she tossed it aside and spread the down-filled quilt that had been warming by the fire over him.
She gathered up the towels and coverlet and hurried out of the room.
Five minutes later, she returned with the warming bricks.
She packed the bricks around Harry, then stood back.
There was nothing more she could do. This made her feel panicked.
She returned to the bed and checked, but he was still cold as ice.
The door opened; Letty looked in. "How is he?"
Ginny shook her head. "He's still so cold."
"Aye, well, all we can do now is keep them warm. I can watch over him, just as well as Mr. Lupin. No sense you getting up through the night, too."
"No--I'll watch here." She wouldn't sleep anyway, not until she knew he was alright. "Moony might wakeup and need something, or Harry might, and want something."
"True enough." Letty nodded at Harry. "S'pect he's a demanding soul, too.'
"He can be," Ginny murmured.
"Best we get to bed then, and get what sleep as we can. You finished here?"
Ginny roused herself. "Yes." With one last look at Harry, she crossed to the door. "It must be quite late."
"Gone eleven," Letty said.