Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did…well, I've run out of things to do. That's it! If I did own Harry Potter I would hire someone to think of something for me to do. Every day. For the rest of my life. So I would never be bored.
QuinkyDink: great to hear from you again, and thank you for letting me know I'm doing the CEO think right
Liz: some D/G in here and even more in chpt 24 coming up soon
Icicle7: yeah, he's sick, but it's a good thing
Alexandria J. Malfoy: I'm glad you're stinking with the story, thanks for the reviews
GoldenFawkes: I'm glad you like the kissing scene
Liv Anguifer: Sorry about the wait, thanks for reviewing
Padfootedmooney: some D/G in this chpt, even more in the next one which won't take as long to update
Sarah: sorry about the wait, finals and all that this week
Guineviere: thanks, I like Draco too
FroggHopper: thanks, and Draco does do the impossible a lot, doesn't he?
Melanie: Thanks a lot, reviews mean a lot to me
Silfion: thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you liked the birthday part
Louey31: sorry about the wait
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Draco didn't get all of the companies up and running by the ninth day. There was one section of Diagon Alley where the foundations of the shops had eroded away and what should have been a simple roof repair turned into a full renovation and so ten stores remained closed.
No one minded too much; they were too busy going back to work and buying new things for their new homes. Public opinion was once again in Draco's favor as England's little trip into depression reversed itself as stores and businesses opened up again. Newspapers were running the story of the miraculous rebuilding of nearly two thousand homes and apartments under headlines such as "It Must Be Magic" which Draco thought was incredibly cliché but he appreciated their support none-the-less.
That didn't mean things were any less busy. Malfoy Enterprises was still smarting from the near bankruptcy,and England was still in the yellow warning zone, and while Draco had pulled the country out before with the use of charity events and carnivals, the fact was that the Malfoy fortune was not endless and so Draco would just have to wait this one out.
It was Tuesday and the only reason Draco was awake was because of the coffee he was drinking non-stop. Well, the coffee and the headache that was currently pulsating through his temples.
"Hey, Ferret-Boy!"
Draco looked up from the stack of papers to see Ginny snapping her fingers at him.
"What?"
"I've been calling your name for the past two minutes," Ginny laughed. She then searched his face and frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"
He scowled at the inspection. "I'm fine," he said.
"You look a little pale."
"I'm always pale," said Draco shrugging.
"Even more so than usual," she clarified. "Are you feeling okay?"
The truth was he'd been feeling a little off ever since the night they'd spent moving things out in the rain, but he was fine. His throat was a little scratchy, but he attributed that to the scalding coffee he drank two days ago; his tongue was just starting to taste again. His stomach was a little upset, again, the coffee. He'd been living on it practically. And his head hurt, but he'd been under a lot of stress, plus caffeine sometimes caused headaches. He frowned; by that reasoning he should stop drinking the coffee. He frowned even more; maybe it was better if he was sick, then he wouldn't have a reason to stop consuming the beverage. Because he couldn't frown any more he adopted his cold mask. He was not sick.
He was so caught up in his internal debate that he didn't notice Ginny get up until she was right in front of him and laying a blessedly cool hand on his forehead. He jerked backwards at the touch, finally realizing her presence. She smirked at him and rested her hand on his forehead again.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Seeing if you have a fever," she said.
"And you can tell by touching my forehead?" he asked rather dubiously.
"It has to do with body temperatures," she said, shifting her hand so that her wrist was on his forehead. "My hand, or my wrist, is usually at the average body temperature so if your forehead feels warm to me, than you have a fever." She frowned. "You feel a little hot."
Part of him demanded that he bat her hands away in protest, but the other part was just content to let her hand stay on his head. She pulled back and he was both grateful and upset that she did.
"I think you have a cold, Malfoy."
"I do not have a cold," Draco said. "I'm a Malfoy and-,"
"You don't get sick," Ginny finished.
It was the truth. Draco could remember having a fever only once in his life, but other than a slight cold here or there, he had always remained in the best of health.
"You should go home early," Ginny told him. "Or at least take a nap before family dinner tonight. You are coming, aren't you?"
"Hmm?" asked Draco, not really paying attention. "Oh. Yeah, I'm coming."
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And he did go. He showed up a little late, but he made it there. Barely.
By the afternoon his head was seriously pounding and by the evening his throat was feeling like it was rubbed raw whenever he swallowed. He thought about going straight home, but he had promised Mrs. Weasley at his birthday party that he would show up. And so here he was, staggering out of the fireplace and making his way to the family room. He got to the table in the dining room and decided that was a far as he was going to get. He slumped into a chair and laid his head on his arms on the cool wood surface.
"Draco?" asked Mrs. Weasley, spotting him from the kitchen.
"I think I'm sick," said Draco, wanting to do nothing more than to find a warm, soft bed somewhere and fall asleep. She came over and placed a hand on his forehead, then pressed her lips there.
"I think you're sick too," she said. "Do you want to go lie down in the family room? It'll be nice and quiet; everyone is outside playing."
He nodded and managed to get to his feet and she guided him into the living room where he collapsed onto the couch, kicking his shoes off so he could stretch out.
"Now, you just stay here and I'll get you some fever-reducer, alright?" said Mrs. Weasley, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Draco didn't glare at the touch, something he would have done hadn't he been ill, and allowed her to give him a kiss on the top of his head.
He closed his eyes as she bustled off, but then opened them again as he heard the front door bang open and laughter and footsteps enter the house.
"Harry, put me down!" said Padma in an I'm-trying-to-be-serious-but-can't-stop-laughing-tone.
"Never," said Harry, making her squeal. "Hey, Mrs. Weasley, is Draco here yet?"
"He's in the living room. But be quiet!" she called after them as Draco could hear them approach. "He's ill!"
Draco looked up as the couple came in and couldn't help but make a disgusted face. Harry had slung Padma over his shoulder as she playfully beat his back with one hand, the other still clutching her video camera.
"Harry, put me down or I'll publish this footage of your butt," she said.
"You wouldn't," said Harry, grinning. "You're much too jealous to have other women staring at me lasciviously."
"Big word Potter," said Draco, shifting onto his back on the couch. "Have you been trying to impress someone?"
"Hello to you too, Malfoy. You don't look so good."
"Harry, put me down," said Padma.
"Are you going to stop recording everything?"
"Yes," she said.
He set her down, but not before she slapped his butt. He didn't seem to mind but rather after setting her down, pulled her in for a kiss.
"Hey," said Draco covering his eyes. "I'm still here you know."
Harry didn't look at all abashed, though Padma blushed.
"So, Draco, how do you feel the economy is doing?" she asked, focusing the camera on him.
"You said you wouldn't record anymore," said Harry.
"I lied," she said. "Just let me get a bit of Draco for my documentary and I'll put it away," she said, tugging on his hand to pull him over for another kiss.
Draco took advantage of her momentary distraction to sit up.
"Alright," she said, once her boyfriend had taken a seat behind her. "How do you feel the economy is doing?"
"I think that given the circumstances the economy is doing the best that we can expect from it. Right now it is just important to let it settle down again. The fact that it was able to spring back so quickly shows that it is surprisingly stable."
"Stable because it sprang back," she said, the question apparent in her voice.
"A stable economy is one that when it suffers a sudden, rather large drop, will recover just as quickly," said Draco. He was going to explain more, but Mrs. Weasley came back in then with the fever-reducing and head ache relief potion and told Padma to let him rest. She flipped off the camera, but not before catching his grimace at the potion's taste and how Mrs. Weasley flitted over him like a concerned mother bird. Draco was honestly too tired to care and without realizing it, he smiled as she pulled a soft-knitted blanket over him. She shooed Harry and Padma out of the room and Draco rolled over onto his stomach and let himself fall asleep.
The field again, with its emerald grass and the sapphire brook running beside it. It was even more lovely than the first time he was there, if that was at all possible, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. He stood up and let the breeze caress his face and run gently through his hair.
Draco, it seemed to call. Draco. He caught a glimpse of red and immediately, he felt a sense of completion.
"Draco," said an amused voice. "Draco, wake up."
Why the hell were people always in a good mood when they woke him up? He rolled over and gazed blearily at the red-head, who was indeed, smiling.
"Good of you to join us, Sleeping Beauty," Ginny said.
There was laughter behind her, and Draco pushed himself up to see the adults in the family seated in the armchairs or on the floor with plates of food in their laps.
"The kids are eating outside today with Percy and Penny watching them, so we decided to join you," said Ginny. "Do you want something to eat?"
Draco sat up the whole way and ran a head over his face. He thought about eating, and felt slightly nauseas.
"No, I'm good," he said.
"Mum figured you feel that way, so here." Ginny handed him a mug of chicken soup. "It'll help you feel better."
He took the mug and she got her own plate and then sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. Conversation started up again, but Draco was content just to listen. Ginny was right, the soup really did help him feel better, plus it was absolutely delicious.
After dinner Draco was feeling well enough to join them all on the floor for a board game. All of the women practically doted over him. Had he been healthy he would have sent them running away with a glare that had been taught to him by the master of glares, his godfather, but as it was he didn't mind the attention they lavished on him. He was content in a sleepy, not quite with it way, and it probably had to do something with the potion he had taken earlier in the evening, and so when Faye brought him hot chocolate without any prompting and when Hermione gave him a pillow to put between his back and the couch he was leaning on, he merely gave them a sweet, hesitant smile that would have thoroughly disgusted him, had he been fully functional.
He vaguely noted that Sev was looking both revolted and highly amused at the same time and couldn't quite figure out why. Ginny was sitting on the couch behind him, and Draco often caught her and Sev exchanging looks. From what he could tell, Ginny was disgusted at the other women, but the reason eluded him. Pansy reached over and started smoothing his hair down, which was sticking up from his nap earlier, but she continued stroking his head even when his hair was back in place. It was a soothing feeling and so Draco didn't shrug her off.
"For Merlin's sake," Ginny exclaimed after a couple minutes of that. "He's sick and you're taking advantage of him!"
Draco tilted his head back so that he could look at her and in doing so Pansy was forced to remove her hand. Ginny was sitting with her legs tucked up underneath her so that he could lean against the sofa, and she had a mug of tea in her hands. She looked angry, and something else, but he couldn't quite place it. She blushed when they all looked at her, muttered an apology, and put her legs next to Draco. She was too short for her feet to fully tough the floor and Draco thought that was adorable.
He tried to concentrate on the game, but sleep was calling to him again, and he let his head fall back to rest on the couch. Before long his head had slipped so that he was leaning against Ginny's legs, but she didn't seem to mind. Plus she was wearing soft corduroy pants. The last thing Draco saw was her bare feet with her toenails painted a pretty ivory color and a charm anklet on her left ankle.
Blaise woke him up when it was time to go home and practically carried him to his bed. Draco didn't even bother changing, but crawled under the covers. Ginny's face while she watched Pansy stroke his hair came unbidden into his mind and he realized with a jolt that the emotion he couldn't name had been jealousy. He smirked at that and drifted off again.
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He honestly felt better the next morning. His head still hurt but it was only a dull throb and he could swallow without the burning sensation in his throat. And so he went to work early to catch up on the things he had skipped over yesterday. He was still situated at the Minister's office, and most of the Op E team was arriving at the same time he did.
"Malfoy, are you sure you should be here?" asked Ginny, spotting him pouring a large mug of coffee.
"I'm fine," he said. "All better."
She gave him a quick once over looking very dubious, but she didn't say anything else.
Wednesday was a busy day, and a rainy day, but a good day. He found that businesses were not only investing in Malfoy Enterprises once again, but they were investing even more than they had before. As one returning client told him over the phone, "Damn, Malfoy, I knew you were good, but damn, what you did in England was nothing short of astounding. The way I see it, if you can pull that off, I know that I won't have to worry about losing my investment."
That was the general consensus of all of the investors who kept calling him, and Draco found himself so besieged by calls, that he gave the phone over to Ginny so that he could deal with things still in England. It wasn't that she couldn't run the Op E for awhile; it's just that he wanted to see how she handled the investors. She did splendidly, answering the onslaught of phone calls and dealing with each person efficiently and quickly, but without rushing the client. Draco couldn't help but feel immensely proud of her.
To celebrate how well things were going, Draco and the Op E team ran out for lunch at Elliot's, a nice little restaurant with private dining rooms in the back for larger parties. They left at 12: 30 and finally arrived at the restaurant at 1:00, soaking wet because as soon as he and the team had left the office, the media descended like a mob. Draco wondered where they had been hiding as he struggled to make out what they were trying to say through the demands of each report and through the steady drumming of the rain. He answered a few of their questions, remembering that Padma had the scoop to the main story, and by the time he broke free of them, he was seriously regretting the fact that they had left the umbrellas at the office because not only was he wet, but seriously chilled as well.
In fact he couldn't seem to get warm for the rest of the day, no matter that his clothes were quickly and completely dried by a simple charm. To make matters worse, his headache had returned with a vengeance and his throat was sore once again. He shivered as he looked up from a report to glance at a clock. Only 2:47. He felt like it should be six he was so tired and his muscles were aching from what he assumed was sitting still for to long. He got up to grab another coffee, and nearly choked when he swallowed the wrong way.
"Breathe the air, Malfoy, and drink the coffee," said Ginny, smiling slightly as he tried to clear his lungs. "Not the other way around."
He laughed as he choked, and then couldn't stop coughing, but it wasn't the cough of simply clearing liquid from one's lungs, it was a deep, hacking, sick cough. Draco winced as the coughing fit finally died down; his throat was killing him.
"Draco, are you alright?" asked Ginny for the rest of the Op E team who were all looking at him concernedly, but didn't have the courage to ask him themselves.
"I'm fine," said Draco, repressing another cough. "Now, where were we?"
His tone was final and Ginny looked as if she wanted to object, but refrained from doing so. By four o'clock, Draco found it impossible to concentrate. His eyes just didn't want to focus on the computer screen and when he tried listening to others give reports, their words echoed uselessly through his head. Numbers were just a jumble of random symbols floating through his head, and while he used to be able to just glance at a chart and tell you exactly what it meant, now it just seemed a plethora of intersecting lines.
At four-thirty, Draco knew he was sick, or rather, at four-thirty he felt bad enough to admit it. He was alone in the conference room when he felt his skin break out in a sweat, and he felt as if his flesh was burning even though inside he was freezing. Then he started coughing again, and the harsh coughs inflamed his throat even more and sent shooting pain through his head. The words in front of him were blurring and weaving, and he managed to shove his laptop in his case and pocket his cell phone. Ginny came in then as well as Samantha, Shelia, and Padma and her crew.
Ginny stared at him. "Draco," she said, concern in her voice, "you-,"
"I know," he said, more irritably than he intended. "I'm sick. I'm going home." He stood up rather abruptly to get away from her prying eyes, but that proved to be a mistake. He felt the blood rush from his head and the world in front of him spun crazily while black spots danced in front of his eyes. There was a split second when he realized that he no longer had control over his legs, or any part of his body for that matter, and then the ground was looming closer and closer and when he hit, he felt removed from his body, and he felt only the echo of what should have been a rather jolting fall. The world went black, but he realized that was only because his eyes were closed, and for the life of him, he couldn't get them to open up again. The sounds around him slowly died out as he delved further in the black, and then unconsciousness claimed him.
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To say that he was semi-aware of what was going on would be an overstatement. He only knew that he was laying in brightness, but that his mind was in darkness. Sometimes, he was aware of the light, aware of voices in the light, but they hurt his head and he was so tired he couldn't stay to hear what they were saying. He was aware of one voice in particular, a voice accompanied by a soothing touch. Sometimes the touch would be holding his hand and sometimes it would be stroking gently through his hair, but either way, it helped him rest.
He awoke to the touch in his hair, really awoke. He struggled to open his eyes, and finally managed to crack them a bit.
"Draco, are you awake?" asked the red-head by his side, dropping her hand from where she was running it through his hair. He missed the touch but was able to open his eyes all of the way.
"Think so," he said, or tried to, but his voice was rough and cracking from disuse. "How long have I been out?"
"Almost a week," said Ginny, stroking his hair again. His lips unconsciously morphed into a smile of contentment before he realized what she had said.
"Wait, a week?" he exclaimed, trying to sit up, but she held him down. He noticed with a flare of frustration that she could do so with one hand on his chest.
"You're not going anywhere," she said, firmly. "You have pneumonia."
He took note of the room for the first time. It was a hospital room with white floors, white walls, and a white ceiling. He was in a bed with the metal bars pulled up and cream colored blankets.
"It was that bad?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Bad question. Her amber eyes filled with tears and she shoved her chair back roughly.
"That bad?" she asked in an outraged voice that shook slightly with what Draco knew was suppressed sobs. "Draco, you were sick with the flu. You had a fever of 104.8 and that's why you collapsed. Then two days later, when we thought you were getting better, you caught pneumonia. You were unconscious for nearly five days, and we thought you were going to die!"
He paled. "Shit." If the public found out he had nearly died, who knows what state the economy was in now. Not to mention the fact that Malfoy Enterprises was just pulling away from bankruptcy. "Ginevra, how's the economy doing? And I'll need the folder on ME to check over things and make some phone calls and…," he trailed off. Ginny was trembling, but not from tears. Her fists were clenched and he wouldn't be surprised if sparks started shooting from her eyes.
"The economy?" she asked in a deadly calm voice. "Some phone calls? You practically die and that's all you can think about?" That last was in a shout that rang throughout the room. She gave him one last hate-filled glare and turned to stride out of the room.
"Wait, Ginevra!" Draco called after her, but she had already reached the door. He tried sitting up, intending to follow after her, except that the moment he suddenly felt as if he deserved to be in the hospital. His head spun and felt as if he had just been hit with a bludger. His body was incapable of any sudden movements and that one jerk left him in a pain that felt like the after affects of one too many 'crucios'. He collapsed back on the pillows behind him and he started coughing again, not as bad as before, but enough to leave him gasping with his throat inflamed again. The coughing fit and the movement left him sweating, shaking, and gasping for air and he closed his eyes, willing away the pain.
The door opened a few minutes later and he opened his eyes, hoping to see Ginny so that he could apologize. It was rather callous of him not to ask how she was doing. Now that he thought about it she had looked pale and tired and no doubt she had taken up the responsibility of saving England, a responsibility he wouldn't wish on anyone. It was a doctor at the door, however, and Draco barely listened as the medi-wizard asked him questions and checked him over.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy, it was a close call for an hour or so yesterday morning, but you pulled out of it fine."
"What day is it?" asked Draco.
"Monday. Almost noon."
"Could I go home?" Draco asked.
The medi-wizard laughed. "You have no idea how sick you are, do you?" he asked.
"I have a faint idea," said Draco, remembering the coughing fit a moment ago. "I could have a nurse on call and I'd stay in bed."
"Maybe tomorrow," said the doctor. "But you'd have to do everything nurse told you to."
"I will," said Draco, who had no attention of doing so, but he was willing to lie if it meant getting out of the hospital sooner.
"We'll see how you are tomorrow then," said the doctor. "If you need anything, just push the button and the nurse will come in. Are you feeling up to visitors just now? There's a man waiting for you outside, a Mr. Zabini."
"Yeah," said Draco. "Send him in."
The medi-wizard left and Blaise walked in, a frown on his usually smiling face. He sat in the chair Ginny had vacated, resting his cane on the side of it.
"So, you wake up for the first time in five days and five minutes later the girl who spent every night by your bedside runs out in tears. Tell me, did the meds do anything to your brain or is this just the bastard side of Draco showing through because you haven't let him out in a while?"
Draco wasn't feeling well, and he had been looking for a little sympathy from his best friend, and his temper flared.
"I have no clue what set her off," said Draco, his voice frigid and extremely Lucius like at the moment. "Nor do I care. What problem is it of mine if she can't keep her emotions under control?"
"What problem?" Blaise repeated, incredulously. "I'll have you know that the girl you just insulted spent every waking moment reassuring that public that the man who pulled them out of the depression was not dying and that there was no reason to panic. She was making calls left and right, not only keeping England together, but also your beloved Malfoy Enterprises. So how about you show a little gratitude, Merlin knows you can afford some."
Draco felt guilt flare inside of him, but he smothered it angrily. He had nearly died for Merlin's sake and all his friend could do was accuse him of ingratitude?
"It's nothing I don't do everyday," he said icily, still sounding like his father.
"Oh, so you're feeling a little under appreciated, are you? Do you know that she spent every night by your side and that the nurses had to drag a bed in here so that she could get some sleep?" Blaise demanded.
The guilt he had been trying to smother was rekindled and flamed up with a vengeance. He hadn't and didn't answer.
"Because," said Blaise, continuing, "I would expect something like that from Lucius."
That hurt. It would have hurt less if Blaise had just punched him, but he had a feeling Blaise was right.
"Blaise," he started, but his friend cut him off.
"No, don't," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. It was completely uncalled for and untrue, but seriously Draco, what on earth did you say to her?"
"She told me that I nearly died and I asked her how the economy was doing," Draco admitted, rather ashamedly, but glad that his friend wasn't yelling anymore.
Blaise winced. "Not the greatest of things to say to her, but it's not unfixable. She's probably just worried; I mean, I was worried, and I'm just your best friend."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Draco.
"It means she likes you, mate," said Blaise, grinning at him.
Draco shook his head. "She doesn't like me," he said. "Not like that anyway." But his mind flashed back to the look of jealousy Ginny had when Pansy was smoothing his hair.
Blaise shrugged. "If you say so," he said, though he didn't sound convinced.
Draco tired to sit up again, but like last time it triggered a coughing fit, and this time he couldn't stop, his body intent on hacking up the lining of his throat. Blaise looked concerned and then seeing he wasn't going to be stopping anytime soon, pulled him up into a sitting position and held him there until the coughs subsided. He then handed him a glass of water from the bedside table, but Draco was shaking so badly he couldn't grasp it and Blaise had to hold that as well.
"You okay, Draco?" Blaise asked when Draco had laid back down still trembling slightly. Draco saw genuine concern on his friends face and gave him a rare smile to show him he was.
"That's not comforting, Draco," said Blaise. "You never smile. What's wrong?"
Draco gave an exasperated sigh. "Nothing, you git. Are you happy now?"
"Immensely so," said Blaise. "Though your wit seems to be somewhat dulled by your malady."
"I thought you would enjoy the vacation," said Draco dryly. "Now get out of here; I'm tired." And he was. He could feel himself falling asleep and he hated an audience.
"Yes, sir," said Blaise, giving him a mock salute, but grabbing his cane and heading out the door. Draco just shook his head and settled back into the pillows.
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Draco didn't wake up until the next morning which the doctor told him, while examining him, was completely normal and expected. Draco still didn't like it, but he couldn't complain because he was able to sit up without coughing or shaking. The doctor than had him Flooed over to his house under the condition that he stayed in bed and that the private nurse the hospital would send over every four hours would be obeyed. Draco was situated in his large bed in his suite and the doctor left with a sheet of instructions on what potions to take and when. As soon as the green fire in the large marble fireplace died out, Draco sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, intent on finding his laptop.
"Don't you even think about it, young man!" came a commanding voice that would have made Minerva McGonagall proud. Draco turned to see a plump, red-headed woman in his doorway with her hands on her hips.
"Oh, hello, Mrs. Weasley," said Draco, giving her a disarming smile. "How are you today?" The smile had no affect on her. Draco tried a different tactic. "What are you doing here?"
"We sent for her," said Pansy, coming in behind her accompanied by Blaise who was grinning wickedly. "We figured we would have some trouble trying to keep you in bed, so we decided to have her come over and help."
"I'm not an invalid," Draco protested as Mrs. Weasley bustled around the room, reading the instructions that came with the potions and pouring some into a cup.
"Course you aren't dear," said Mrs. Weasley, handing him the cup. Draco didn't take it. "Come on, the best thing for you right now is to drink this and get some sleep."
"I don't want to sleep," said Draco, sending Blaise and Pansy a glare. They merely smirked.
"Come on, Draco," said Mrs. Weasley.
"I don-," Draco started but then he was cut off by the cup being shoved in his open mouth and tipped up, forcing him to either drink the potions or choke. He gagged the potions down, coughing once the cup was removed from his lips. Mrs. Weasley handed him a glass of water which he gulped down to rid his mouth of the awful taste.
"Are you happy now?" he asked glaring at the Weasley matriarch.
"How about you get some rest now," said Mrs. Weasley, pushing him gently, but firmly back onto the pillows.
"No," said Draco. "I'm not tired."
"Not even a little bit?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
"No," said Draco, even as a wave of exhaustion took his body and his eyes closed of their own accord. He snapped them back open and struggled to sit up again. "You drugged me!" he accused, even as Mrs. Weasley pushed him back again with one hand, and pulled the covers up, tucking him in.
"Just go to sleep," she told him as his eyes closed again.
He wanted to tell her he wasn't tired, but he felt as if something was reaching up from the ground and sucking him back into darkness. He frowned as the dizziness associated with sleeping potions washed over him and then there was nothing.
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The surface he was lying on rocked a little and there were a few giggles.
"Alright, wake Uncle Draco up," said a feminine voice in a whisper.
"He's not my Uncle," said a boy's voice. "He's my brother!"
"Ooops," said the woman. "You're right. Wake him up."
"Don't you dare," Draco groaned, pulling a pillow over his head.
"Draco!" yelled a voice and a small form jumped on top of his stomach, eliciting a grunt from his mouth. Tiny hands grabbed the pillow from him and he opened his eyes to see the toothy grin of Zak. "Dinner!" the boy exclaimed, happily. He then clamored off of Draco and began jumping on the bed with Dragon.
Draco turned to Pansy who was watching the boys to make sure they didn't jump right off of the bed.
"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up and leaning against the headboard.
"Five o'clock," she said. "The potion really knocked you out."
"And whose fault is that?" asked Draco, though he really couldn't complain. He felt completely rested and felt that he could even get up, though he doubted they would let him.
Pansy merely smiled and scooped the boys off of the bed. "Alright boys, go on downstairs with everyone else. Draco needs to eat."
The boys scampered off and Draco turned to look at Pansy. "Everyone else?" he asked.
"The whole family is here," she said. "We were worried about you. Now, Severus is bringing you dinner and I want you to eat all of it, understand?"
"Sev?" asked Draco, frowning.
"Yes, Sev," said Pansy. "Maybe he can knock some sense into you so that you don't go running around when you're deathly ill anymore."
That was exactly the reason Draco didn't want the Potions Master bringing him dinner because Sev was not above guilt-tripping Draco into making promises that the next time he had a slight headache he would go straight to the hospital, but before he could protest, Sev came in with a covered tray and Pansy left.
Sev set the tray on Draco's lap and pulled the cover off, revealing Mrs. Weasley's chicken soup, French bread, and a glass of pumpkin juice. Draco would have killed for a mug of coffee. Sev settled himself on a chair by the bed and Draco sighed, not even picking up the spoon. He could feel Sev's eyes on him and it was rather uncomfortable.
"Just spit it out, Sev," he said.
"I was just wondering what you were thinking when you were at work even though you were dangerously ill," said Snape, his voice smooth, but cool, which meant that he was upset. The thing was that he was upset because Draco nearly died and Draco knew Sev cared for him, and that made him feel all the guiltier.
"I wasn't thinking," he said. "I thought it was just a cold and that it would pass and I'm sorry and I won't do it again."
There. He had covered all of the bases, right? He risked a glance at Sev, whose brows were knitted over an unreadable expression.
"Sev?" he asked quietly.
The Potions Master reached over and grabbed Draco into a fierce hug, nearly upsetting the tray balanced on Draco's lap and all Draco could do was wrap his arms around his godfather and return the embrace. He could feel the tension in his godfather's shoulders and he knew he had caused it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into Sev's chest.
Snape pulled away, regaining his mask of indifference. "You will never do something like that again, do I make myself clear?" he asked.
And Draco could only nod.
"Good. Now eat your dinner."
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After dinner the family came up to see him in small groups so that he wasn't overwhelmed with people. Mrs. Weasley made Fred and George go in different groups so that they didn't try anything. That only gave them the perfect opportunity to test their two-part dung bombs.
They really were genius, Draco decided after the bedroom was aired out. Fred had gone in with the first group and had sprayed a squirt of what seemed to be ordinary perfume in the air. George had come in a few minutes later and had prayed another bottle and immediately the room filled with a stench rivaling an army of stink bombs. They had then explained it to Draco while Mrs. Weasley was busy opening windows and glowering. The substances alone were unreactive, but when put together, they created the horrid odor. They had gone on to explain that they had used it successfully in several office buildings, including the Aurors office, which was supposed to detect dung bombs.
Draco had laughed when they told him how the Aurors had run around, checking wards and looking for Death Eater's, but the laughter had triggered a rather nasty coughing fit, which made Mrs. Weasley send everyone downstairs so Draco could get some rest.
Harry stopped in later that evening, which Draco was thankful for because he had been sleeping all day and was incredibly bored. Mrs. Weasley had refused to give him his laptop and had the radio moved from his room. She told him he was not to do anything work related for at least two more days, and nothing Draco said seemed to persuade her other wise.
Harry had actually smuggled in a newspaper for Draco and Draco groaned at seeing the first page. It was a picture of him, from the looks of it from when he was at the charity ball because he was in his dress robes and he was smiling charmingly. The headline read "Draco Malfoy out of Hospital, No Word on his Condition."
"You should see the paper from a few days ago," said Harry. "Some reporter actually got into your room somehow and took a picture of you when you were unconscious and it stayed on the front page for two days. That's when people started sending you things, flowers and balloons and stuffed animals. It filled three hospital rooms and then Ginny started giving all of the things to other rooms, but she kept all the cards for you. Some of them were really quite touching."
"Where is Ginevra?" asked Draco. His business manager hadn't come into to see him and he had missed her.
"Across the hall, in one of the guest rooms doing some work. I head that you two had a spat of sorts?"
Draco grimaced. "Something like that," he said. "She hasn't talked to me since."
Harry nodded, looking thoughtful and then he got up. "Well, I'm heading off now, I'm taking Padma on a date so if a certain person decided to disobey doctor's orders and get up, I wouldn't be here to stop him. Have a good day, Draco."
"You too Harry," said Draco, giving him a smile of thanks. He waited impatiently until Harry left then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still in the white pajama bottoms and button up shirt of the hospital and as it was rather chilly without the blankets, he first made his way slowly over to his closet and pulled on a red sweater. It was much harder to walk than he expected and just reaching his door left him exhausted, but he was a Malfoy and used to getting his way, so he silently opened the door and stepped into the hall.
Light spilled into the shadowy hall from the room across the hall, but the door was shut half way so that he couldn't see in. He crossed the remaining few steps and pushed the door open all of the way.
"Draco?" exclaimed Ginny, putting down the laptop and getting off of the bed she was lounging on. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"Came to see you," he said, shrugging slightly.
"You came to see me," she repeated, disbelief in her voice.
"Actually, I wanted to apologize for the other day," said Draco. "But you wouldn't come and see me, so the mountain had to go to Muhammad."
"What?" she asked, not catching the reference to the Muggle phrase.
"You wouldn't see me, so I came to see you," Draco clarified.
"You're going to catch sick standing there," Ginny sighed. "You could have just have someone send for me, you know."
"It's more fun this way," said Draco.
Ginny sighed again, but she was smiling. "Let's get you back to bed before you really do catch your death."
"Actually, is that my laptop?" Draco asked, looking at the computer on the bed.
"Oh, no you don't," said Ginny, halting his progress with a hand on his chest. "You are going straight to bed. Come on."
She pushed him back into the hall and then directed him to the bed. Draco obeyed, partly because he didn't want to make her mad again and partly because he was tired after the short stroll. He let Ginny tuck him in, smirking at how alike she and her mother were in this regard.
"What's so funny?" she asked.
"You're just like your mother," he said.
"And you're in Gryffindor colors," she said, flicking his sweater lightly. "Now go to sleep."
"So, you're not mad anymore?" he asked as she walked to the door.
"Draco, the most frustrating thing about you is that it is impossible to be mad at you. Now go to sleep," she repeated.
She turned off the light and shut the door on his surprised smirk.
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I'm sorry it took so long, but it's finals week, and you know what that means. Lots of caffeine, even more stress and not enough time or sleep. But read and review and I promise even more D/G in the next chapter. I planned for more D/G in this chapter, but it just didn't write like that. But, I promise more in 24.