AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. Not writing it, but posting it. See, I'm officially grounded for some reason or another, and my mum took the wireless internet card and the removable disk I keep my stories on and hid them both. Of course being the genius I am, I found them. I'm so clever. So, here it is: chapter five. It's way longer than the others because I figured you deserved it. So yes. Here you go.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine unless it is.

Mistakes Made

Chapter Five: Nausea and Slytherins

Ginny rolled over. Her head immediately chastised her for this action by driving a sledgehammer into every nerve it possessed. She managed to open her eyes a slit, and whisper a feeble 'help' into the pounding silence that was her room.

Except it wasn't her room. She immediately reached down. "Nope, no knickers, definitely got shagged," she mumbled to herself, a little disappointed that her only Contraception Charm had been used for a wild night she couldn't remember a single minute of. But she felt great. A voice piped up behind her. "Oh yeah, me too," the strong, rumbly, early-morning voice stated, apparently responding to Ginny's semi-conscious rambling. Ginny grinned at the warm hand on her hip and rolled over.

And promptly screamed bloody buggering murder.

………………………………

Pansy awoke to the sounds of what seemed to be someone being brutally killed. She swung out of her bed, and noticed that Ginny wasn't in the room. Ginny never got up earlier than this. Doing some quick calculations, Pansy got an idea into her head.

"Oh, fuck, it's too early in the morning for this shite," she grumbled, stalking over to Blaise's room and hammering on the door. "Zabini? Zabini, wake up. We have to go stop Ginny from killing Draco."

"Why?" Blaise moaned from inside. Pansy put her mind to it, but couldn't think of a good answer. "Nevermind. I'll just be in the kitchen." Pansy meandered off. She returned in a few seconds. "Do you want any coffee?" she called. Three heads emerged from separate rooms, all answering with a resounding 'yes, please.'

"Oh, and Pans?" Ginny called, wrapping a blanket more firmly around her chest. "Make it strong, please."

………………………………..

Breakfast was a bit of an uncomfortable moment, silence broken only by the odd, desperate conversational attempt of the 'clink' of the silverware to create any sort of noise whatsoever.

Blaise finally cleared his throat. "So, does anyone remember anything of what happened last night, at all?" he asked, glancing around the table. Pansy stared deeply into her coffee, too madly in love with it to answer, or even look up. Ginny fidgeted in her seat. "Er, I don't, er…actually remember much of…er…anything," she mumbled. Draco nodded. "That counts for me as well, mate. Not a clue. Well, I can make a guess as to what happened," he said, glancing at Ginny, who was still only wearing his bed sheets.

There was a brief period of silence, broken this time by Pansy, who stood up suddenly and violently threw the beloved contents of her mug into Draco's face, before storming off.

As Draco sputtered in steaming coffee rage, Blaise glanced over at Ginny. "What's her problem?" he scoffed. Before he knew it, he was blowing boiling hot coffee out of his nose as Ginny followed Pansy's fiery trail out of the room.

Draco pulled out his wand and dried his face. His cheeks were hot, and not just from the unwanted steam bath they'd just had. "What's with the sudden Mad Cow epidemic in this place?" he growled. Blaise was still dripping, staring off in the direction the two raging spitfires had…well…spit-fired. "Is it just me, or is this a monthly thing?" he muttered. Draco's eyes widened and he glanced around; luckily, there were no women in the room. He exhaled. "If you want to live to die a natural, shagged-out death, sans a purposefully forceful emasculation by way of kitchen utensils, then it's just you. Trust me; there are ways of using an egg beater that you've never even dreamed of."

Blaise nodded. "Just me, then. Right. Just me."

…………………………………….

"I thought you'd finished with this."

Pansy pulled her head up from between her shoulders, her elbows on her knees, seated capriciously on the edge of the toilet. She splayed her hands, looking about the bathroom in bewilderment. "How the hell did you get in here?" she asked, then shook her head. "No, actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know what you get up to when Blaise is taking a shower."

Ginny chose this moment to become temporarily and conveniently deaf and ignored Pansy's comment. "You're skirting the issue, Pans," she chided. Pansy frowned, placing her head in her hands. "What am I supposed to do, Gin?" she asked. What frightened Ginny was that she sounded like she actually wanted an answer. Ginny shuffled her feet awkwardly. "What do you mean, Pans? I mean, I just…I thought you were over him," she said tentatively.

Pansy leapt to her feet. "Believe me, Weasley, I thought I was. Why do you think I came back? I thought I could handle it. I didn't think I'd wake up one morning and find out that you'd slept with him. How the hell should I prepare myself for that, then, eh?" she cried, banging her fist against the wall.

Ginny frowned. "Pans, are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?" she asked. Pansy growled. "Nothing happened. Nothing that he hadn't done before. He'd cheated on me before, he'd slept with my friends before, he'd called me names before, he'd ignored me before, he'd treated me like garbage before, but before, I wasn't so completely in love with him!"

Silence bounced off the tile walls of the bathroom. Pansy was breathing heavily, shaking, and looking like a woman in love. But Pansy Parkinson didn't fall in love; she wouldn't allow it.

Pansy Parkinson didn't have emotional breakdowns in water closets either.

Ginny was entirely unsure what to do in a situation like this. Pansy had been gone for almost a year to get over Draco. She was obviously different. Should she comfort her? Would Pansy try to kill her? Should she ask more questions? Should she talk it over with her? Should she leave her alone? Should she force her into the shower and turn on all the cold water?

So uncertain was the poor, befuddled Ginny Weasley that she did a very stupid thing, and that was what her body was telling her to do.

She walked right past Pansy, lifted the lid on the toilet, and violently hurled cookies.

……………………………………………………………………

Blaise and Draco made sure to steer clear of the two women and coffee for a while. They 'took a week off' to 'go swing dancing', something Blaise assured Draco he remembered as being a common and elusive pastime from his Muggle Studies class. The girls would have no idea they were just trying to avoid them.

…………………………………………………………………

Ginny watched with eyebrow arched as Draco and Blaise Disapparated, arguing over what a jitterbug was. "Were they always that stupid, or do you think it's because we threw hot coffee at them?" she asked Pansy, who was lounging on the sofa. "No, really, the coffee had nothing to do with it," she mumbled. Ginny shook her head. "'Swing dancing'," she chuckled to herself. "Stupid gits, however did they manage to graduate?"

Pansy didn't answer. It had been two weeks since 'the unholy, highly traumatic, and best-forgotten apocalypse', as Ginny referred to that night, and yet still Pansy was constantly slipping into a deep frown every five minutes. It was beginning to piss Ginny off.

Although, anything could piss Ginny off lately. Including the previously very vocal and now very deceased Mr. Gippy, the cat in the flat across the hall from theirs. And she'd gotten a Howler from her mum for setting Ron on fire two days before that. The git had shown up at her door at eight in the morning with a platter of leftover, almost mouldy, bologna-and-mayonnaise sandwiches. In all fairness, Ginny threw up on him first, then she cleaned him up, then she banished the platter to Outer Mongolia, and then she set Ron on fire. He really had deserved it. Mayonnaise? Just thinking about it made Ginny sick, and she usually had a stomach of iron. She figured she was coming down with something from spending too much time around Blaise and Draco. One more episode of 'let's burp the alphabet' and she was kicking them out, regardless of whose flat it was.

Even so, she regretted taking it out on Pansy. She really wished Draco was there to terrify. It was entirely too easy. For some reason the boy was deathly afraid of egg beaters. Odd, really. Blaise too.

"Pansy," she said, perking slightly. "The boys are gone," she grinned, vaulting over the couch and into Pansy's lap. Pansy eyed her warily, reaching for a pillow. "You know what that means," Ginny said in a singsong voice. Pansy held up the pillow in self-defence.

"Spill time."

Pansy glanced over the top of the pillow.

"Spill time," she breathed in relief.

"Spill time," Ginny grinned.

Pansy arched an eyebrow. "Spill time?"

"Spill time," Ginny stressed.

"Stop repeating yourself. What the hell does spill time mean?" Pansy asked. "Spill time is where I sit here all nice and comfortable while you spill all your nasty, dirty, humiliating, painful secrets from your past," Ginny answered promptly, "starting with what happened between you and Draco and what's happening now."

Pansy growled. "Damnit, Ginny, you can't just ask someone to empty their heart out to you. Especially a Slytherin." Ginny just stared expectantly. "Hm, apparently you can," she grumbled. "Look, Weasley, there's nothing to it. Really, just leave it, yeah?"

So Ginny did. Particularly because she wasn't all that interested and she was fit to lie down, succumb to exhaustion, and die. If only there weren't ex-Slytherins to bump off. Life was so trying sometimes.

"So, enough about me and Draco. What about you and Draco? After all, no matter how much you try to deny it, you did sleep with the ferret, after all," Pansy smirked, that inexorable Slytherin smirk. All the nausea Ginny had been feeling all day swelled up in her as Pansy, the cow, forced her to think of the one thing she'd been avoiding like the next round of the bubonic plague. Stumbling off her ex-Slytherin devious counterpart, Ginny made a beeline for the bathroom.

Pansy sat back, trying to fall asleep, and yet somehow unable to do so. Perhaps it was the problems being around Draco caused. Perhaps it was the fact that she was trying to cope with lying to her best friend. Perhaps it was the horrifying sounds her best friend was making in the bathroom, conjuring images of baby spew, pagan rituals, and ancient roman orgies.

A splash and a squish later and Pansy's stomach had her rushing for the kitchen sink herself, praying that Draco hadn't damaged the plumbing beyond all repair.

…………………………………………………..

One week passed rather quickly.

"So, swing dancing. Whose brilliant idea was that?"

Blaise glared at Ginny over his cup of coffee. "Oh, like you paid attention in Muggle Studies class," he grumbled, spilling coffee down his chin. Ginny's face went white. "Ergh, that's disgusting," she complained, clutching at her stomach. Blaise was about to make a comment on her carnivorous and savage eating habits, but something caught his attention. Rather, two somethings did.

"Are your breasts bigger?"

Ginny glanced up, abandoning the wave of nausea that was threatening to turn Blaise's breakfast into a traumatic and extremely disgusting, if not squishy, experience. "Are my whats what?" she asked, letting go of the handful of fabric she'd been clenching.

Blaise was staring avidly at her chest. "Well, they looked…not now, but when you pulled your shirt…they looked…they looked…"

The drool forming in the corner of his mouth said it all.

Ginny glanced down, nudging the girls tenderly. "Oh, shite. I don't know about bigger, but they hurt like hell," she groaned, tucking her hands under her arms. "Blaise," she said softly. "You can stop looking now." Blaise's head jerked up. "Right."

Ginny nodded, gently massaging the offending appendages as Draco entered the room and immediately started salivating. Ginny eyed him warily. "Oh, no you don't. You got your shot, mate. You're not getting anywhere near me or my goods ever again." She crossed her legs. Blaise was forced to do the same, for other reasons.

Ginny blew a piece of hair out of her face as Pansy flopped into the room, looking feverish and dishevelled. "Look what the cat dragged out of bed," Draco commented. "Someone drank too much last night," he smirked, sitting down with a pile of eggs and pancakes.

"Oh, god!" Ginny and Pansy both disappeared under the coffee table, which immediately emanated several interesting and not at all appetizing sounds. Blaise turned an interesting green colour and picked his feet up off the ground, settling them into his chair and rocking back slowly.

Draco stuck his head under the table, and instantly re-emerged, cheeks bulging and eyes watering. "Right. First order of business; you can clean up under the table." Blaise covered his eyes with one hand and stuck his wand under the table, muttering a cleaning spell. "Good. Now I'm going to get Pansy a hangover potion," which he did, and proceeded to cart the newly-unconscious Pansy back to bed, where he forged a sick note and sent it with her owl. Returning to the kitchen, he found Blaise had pulled Ginny into his lap and conjured a bucket, into which she was throwing up again.

When Draco entered, Blaise looked up, and the expression on his face was one Draco had never expected to see. "Right," he said, clearing his throat at the next lull in Ginny's vomiting, "next stop, St. Mungo's."