Wilfully Chapter 15, a harry potter fanfic

Hello, dear readers! Thank you so much for the lovely feedback on the last chapter, and I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well.

Disclaimer: The Wizarding World belongs to J.K Rowling. This little story belongs to me.

WILFULLY: CHAPTER 15

Ginny Weasley had looked forward to the winter holidays. The team had been training very hard for their next match, scheduled to take place in the first week of January. The idea of having a few days off was appealing; she wanted to do nothing and worry about nothing.

Yeah, that wasn't going on happen.

He bit his lip, and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad. Yet, after all, what did it matter to him? One's days were too brief to take the burden of another's errors on one's shoulders. Each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it. The only pity was one had to pay so often for a single fault. One had to pay over and over again, indeed. In her dealings with man, destiny never closed her accounts.

Ginny sat up on her bed, nose buried in a book that Hermione had lent her weeks ago. She had been too lazy to read it initially, and now that she had picked it up on a lazy morning, she could not bring herself to put it down. 'The Picture of Dorian Grey', it was called, written by a muggle named Oscar Wilde. It was the story of a young man who traded his soul for eternal youth and she found it fascinating.

But even Mr. Wilde's captivating prose could not keep her stomach from rumbling. It was early afternoon, and she hadn't had anything since breakfast. With a sigh, she marked the page she was on, put the book down and decided to venture into the kitchen. Christmas was only four days away, her brothers and their families often popped in and out of the house and her mum always had some delicious snacks lying around.

She had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen.

Draco?

It can't be him, she mused. There was no reason why he would visit; he'd barely white-knuckled his way through the dinner she'd arranged with him and her parents.

Ginny inched towards the archway that led to the kitchen and realised with a jolt that it was indeed her boyfriend, sitting at the dining table. "… there's no need," he was saying. "I don't wish to trouble you."

"Nonsense!" Molly said as she placed a steaming cup before him. She pointed her wand at the cupboard, which flew open and three jars floated out, hanging in mid-air. "Cherry, raspberry or grape?"

"Grape, please," Draco mumbled, eyeing the jars. "Did you make those yourself?"

"I did. My children love jams," Molly replied as she made quick work of smearing his chosen jam on a slice of bread. Sliding the plate towards him, she eyed him with open curiosity. "You look pale, Mr. Malfoy."

"Just tired. Been working almost day and night the last few days." He bit into the bread, his eyes widening for a moment. "This is delicious, Mrs. Weasley."

"Thank you."

The fact that Draco and her mother were behaving so civilly towards each other was something worth cheering for, but it occurred to Ginny that eavesdropping was becoming a habit of hers and that simply would not do. Straightening her jumper, she marched into the kitchen. "This is a nice surprise," she said casually.

"Ginevra," Draco moved to stand up to greet her, but she motioned him to stay seated. His sharp grey eyes did a quick onceover of her, and she found herself shuffling her feet sheepishly. She was wearing black and white flannel pajama bottoms and a red tee with an animated lion on it that was currently sleeping (Sometimes the lion would jump, other times run to the sleeves and back. One time, it wiggled its bum when she was arguing with Ron). "I see you are enjoying your time off."

"I see you're making small talk with my mother," she shot back, refusing to feel ashamed of the fact that she had been in her pajamas since her holidays had begun a couple of days ago.

"Ah, yes. She has been most kind."

"He says he has a headache," Molly stated, which for her was reason enough to be kind to a Malfoy. She did truly believe that a good cup of tea was the cure to all illnesses, after all.

Ginny's curiosity was peaked. She glanced back at her boyfriend, and asked, "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"Remember that business deal I've been working on for a while now? It's done." He told her. "I'm officially a stakeholder in the Nimbus Racing Broom Company."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You're joking?"

"It's not really something the Malfoy Corporation usually dabbles in, but I've always wanted to invest in Quidditch somehow" Draco said. "It took a little while to reach an agreement. The management was initially reluctant to allow any external input to their process. I told them that I wouldn't want to do that anyway; my company would be more interested in R&D." His lips curled into a smug smile. "Of course, there are other perks that I get to enjoy."

Ginny was genuinely happy for Draco, but she couldn't help but roll her eyes. "I should have known you've come to boast."

"Oh, I did." He grinned. "Earlier today, I got an exclusive sneak peek at the much-awaited Nimbus Prime."

Ginny started. It had been rumoured for almost a year now that Nimbus was working on a world-class broomstick that would be far, far superior to anything else in the market. Which Broomstick? had often speculated about it, but the matter had been kept hush-hush so far. That Draco had actually seen it filled her with envy – and more than that, burning curiosity. "Y-You've seen it?"

"Even better. I rode it."

Oh, sweet Merlin. "And?"

Draco blew out a breath of exhilaration. "It was glorious."

Knees trembling with anticipation, she lowered herself into the chair next to him. "Tell me everything."

"I could. Or," Draco paused dramatically. "I could simply show you."

She stilled. "What?"

"I'm a stakeholder," Draco shrugged. "I borrowed the Nimbus Prime. Granted, I had to make some very serious promises and sign a huge stack of confidentiality agreements – which, by the way, you are bound to as well – but I thought you'd prefer the experience yourself rather than living vicariously through mine."

With an ecstatic squeal, Ginny lunged at him, her lips crashing onto his in a passionate kiss. She found it to be ridiculously charming that he thought of her enough to arrange this, a chance to ride on a broom that was the constant talk of the town even before its release – and she made sure to express her gratitude and glee as she buried her fingers in his blond hair, holding his head in place as her tongue danced against.

"Ginevra. Molly. Weasley!" Molly's shrill voice thundered. She was undoubtedly impressed to hear about such a grand business deal, but that did not mean she would ever allow such behaviour in her house. "You stop that right now!"

Ginny pulled away instantly. Looking sheepishly at her mum, who was livid, she mumbled a quick apology. She got off Draco's lap and glanced at him, amused at how dazed he was. It had been a rather wonderful bit of snogging. "Well?" She held out her hand. "Are you going to show me the Nimbus Prime or not?"

Ten minutes later, they were standing in the back garden and Ginny was holding the most beautiful broomstick she had ever seen. It was made of matte-finish African blackwood, with a tail of fine two-shaded twigs that were apparently handpicked in Tesso Nilo, Indonesia, and then charmed to perfection by a group of expert goblins and wizards in York. The words 'Nimbus Prime' were engraved in the handle in bold, gold letters. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It is," Draco made heart eyes at the broom. "It makes the latest Firebolt look like a children's toy."

That statement only made her eager to fly. As she mounted the Nimbus Prime, a thought occurred to her: she was a professional Quidditch player and he was a Quidditch fan. It was shocking, not to mention unfair, that they had not flown together even once. With a grin, she accio-ed her Firebolt and handed it to him. "Come on, then. Let's put it to test."

"Oh, no." Draco shook his head. "You go ahead. I've a headache, so–"

"Flying will cure that. Come on!" She said and kicked off the ground.

Ginny knew the second she took off that Draco was right. Nimbus Prime seemed to read her mind and take note of her body movements simultaneously. They must have added enchantments for comfort, for she felt as though she was sitting on a cushion seat, and it helped quite a lot with the balance. In no time at all she was seventy feet high in the air, causing her hair to fall into her eyes, but she flicked her head with a careless grin and saw Draco hovering by her side.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he asked.

She nodded, then pointed to a rather tall tree that stood up on the hill, some one-hundred-and-fifty meters away. "Race you to there?"

"I'll lose," he responded, declining her challenge. "But go on, test the speed. I know you want to."

"But–"

"I will watch."

"Pervert," she joked and spurred the broom forward as fast as it would go, and by Merlin, it went fast. This was undoubtedly the fastest broom she had ever ridden, and its speed and precision was magnificent. Determined to test the broom in every way, she dropped precipitously into a hair-raising dive, then pulled up steeply, rising and turning until the whole world was upside down. She straightened from the loop with a laugh and zoomed straight ahead like a bullet–

A scream caused her to halt.

Ginny turned her head and saw her mother, nothing but a speck from afar, running out of the house and waving madly up at the sky. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw what it was: Draco was falling to the ground.

There was no time to think.

Ginny shot forward and her surroundings blurred as she hoped to reach Draco before he hit the ground sixty feet below. The impact would most likely kill him. Why, then, hadn't he pulled out his wand and tried to stop his fall? Why did he fall in the first place?

Unfortunately, even Nimbus Prime could last so long against the natural force of gravity. It only helped her reach him with just enough time to grab hold of his hand about ten feet above the ground. He was heavy, though, and there was a sickening crack when she grasped him; breaking his fall had come at the cost of breaking his arm. But a broken bone could be fixed, so she lowered him gently to the ground and hopped off the broom to take better look at him.

Draco was unconscious. He had been during his fall, which would explain why he hadn't tried to stop it or even call for help.

"What's wrong?" Molly asked. She had made her way over to them and knelt beside her.

"I don't know," Ginny replied, shaking him lightly. His head lolled to the side and a few drops of blood started trickling from his nose. She reached out to tap his cheek lightly, then shrunk back as if stung. "His skin's burning."

"So it is," Molly, who had placed her hand upon his brow, gasped. She pulled out her wand; during the war, she'd learned some basic healing skills. A faint blue light emitted from its tip, its glow spreading over Draco for a few moments before it vanished. Whatever the spell was, it must not have worked for his nose started bleeding more profusely now. Her mother frowned and started examining him more closely.

A thud caused Ginny to jump and she turned around abruptly, only to realise that her Firebolt had crashed a few feet away from them. "I don't understand," she mumbled, her eyes moving from the broomstick to the clear sky above.

"Ginny."

"How did he fall?"

"Ginny–"

"He was absolutely fine minutes ago. How'd he–"

"He's not breathing, Ginny!"

It was the wild panic in her mother's voice that made her turn her gaze back. "What?"

Molly had pulled up the sleeve of his coat and pressed her fingers against his wrist. "And there's barely any pulse." She looked up at her daughter, eyes wide in alarm. "W-We need to take him to the hospital. Now!"

What happened next was bewildering, to say the least.

They took Draco to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where Blaise Zabini had appeared before them. He listened patiently as they explained what had happened, and in less than a quarter of an hour, Ginny found herself waiting in the hallway on the fourth floor, outside a private room where Draco had been moved. Zabini was inside, along with a trainee Healer and a mediwitch, who kept on hurrying in and out but did not answer any question that Ginny directed at her.

An hour passed without any news, and she sent her mother home. Her father would be home soon, and he was terrible at fixing meals for himself. Her mother resisted of course, said she wanted to be here with her, which she appreciated very much. But really, what would be the point of it? Instead, she asked her for a favour.

"Can you take the Nimbus Prime to the Malfoy Manor?" Ginny asked. "I don't know how long he borrowed it for, and I don't want this to ruin the deal he's worked so hard to get. Tell his house-elf that it needs to be sent back to the Nimbus offices. He'll see it done."

"Of course, dear," her mum said.

And so, Ginny waited alone, her mind boggled with confusion. He'd said he had a headache. Was it because of that? And then there was Blaise Zabini; a look of worry had flashed in his eyes when she first told him about Draco, but there was no surprise in his demeanour. But then again, Healers were trained to take a rather practical approach when it came to such situations. No one would ever get healed if they started panicking.

At long last, the mediwitch and the trainee healer left the room and walked away. Zabini stepped out after them, and she jumped to her feet. "How is he?"

"His arm's fixed, but I'm afraid Draco will have to stay here for a bit," he replied. "I know you have questions, but I'm not at liberty to tell you–"

He'd said something similar when Draco had been hospitalised due to that infection months ago. Was this something similar? "I'm his girlfriend!" she protested.

"You're not his family, and he hasn't added your name to the list of people who are privy to private information if such a situation arises," he told her calmly. "I'm sorry, but there is a protocol I've to follow."

"Well, can I talk to him then?"

"He's in no condition."

"What's that supposed to…" Ginny trailed off due to the arrival of Narcissa Malfoy.

The woman had lost much of the hardness that she had once possessed, but she held her head high and moved with grace. "What happened?" she demanded.

"He collapsed," Zabini replied.

Worry flashed across her face. "Were there any warnings?"

"Not to my knowledge. It was good fortune, I suppose, that Miss Weasley was with him when it happened. She brought him here swiftly."

Narcissa Malfoy turned to Ginny with an air of surprise, as if she hadn't noticed her before. Her pale blue eyes studied her and when she spoke, her voice was as cold as her gaze. "Miss Weasley, we finally meet."

"Wait, you two have never met before?" Zabini sputtered. All of a sudden, he looked awkward, as if he would give all his precious possessions just to be far away from this situation.

Ginny ignored him. "Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted politely. For some inexplicable reason, she felt the urge to curtsey, which only left her angry with herself. She was a professional Quidditch player, for Merlin's sake! She will not be intimidated by Draco's mum.

"I must thank you for bringing my son here." Narcissa forced a smile. "But I will take it from here."

Um, what? The audacity of this woman that she was trying to dismiss her, as if the world still revolved around the Malfoys. Well, she was in for a rude awakening. Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Narcissa had already turned to Zabini.

"I'd like a detailed update on my son's condition, please," she said. "Perhaps we can talk in private?"

"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," Zabini said politely, though it was obvious that he was rather surprised by what he had just witnessed. "My office, if you will." He led her away, but as he did so, he glanced back and shot Ginny an apologetic look.

Merlin. Had that just happened?

Ginny sat down once again, fuming. Draco had told her that his mother was quite disapproving of their relationship, but this was something else entirely. The sheer arrogance in Narcissa's manner – and to think that these families often claim to be the civilised ones in society. At least the Weasleys had behaved somewhat decently towards Draco, even if it was only for her sake. Her cheeks burned with shame. She'd been taken off-guard once, she was never going to let it happen again.

A little while later, Narcissa returned. The veiled worry on her face disappeared the moment her eyes came to rest on Ginny. "You're still here."

"I am," Ginny replied coolly.

"I told you. You're no longer needed."

"I should remind you that I'm your son's girlfriend and not your house-elf," she shot back in a louder voice than she had intended. "You cannot wish me away whenever you feel like it!"

Narcissa blinked in surprise. "Yes, I can see that," she said dryly.

The Weasley anger was begging to come out and she wanted to just lash out at the woman before her, but it would only do more harm than good, so she took a deep breath and said in a much calmer but firm voice, "I understand you don't approve of my presence here, Mrs. Malfoy, but I'm not leaving."

Those pale blue eyes observed her thoughtfully, then flickered down the hallway, which was mercifully empty at the time. No doubt, Narcissa Malfoy was as concerned about her family's reputation as her son and had no desire to become the talk of anything even remotely controversial. "Very well," she conceded, pressing her lips together in distaste. "I can't have you making a scene here." And then she walked into Draco's room.

Ginny faltered, confused as to whether she was allowed in or not. Then, it occurred to her that she did not need this woman's permission. Her desire to see Draco was much stronger than her icy relationship with his mother, so she marched through the door without another thought.

And she froze.

That can't be Draco, she thought. And yet there was no mistaking that pale blond hair and that jawline.

He looked hollow and sunken, as if half of his weight had withered away in a matter of hours. His skin was too pale, with a sickly tinge that she had seen on corpses. His body was so still that for a moment she did wonder if he had passed on, but there was a purple feather quill attached to a band around his wrist that kept on scribbling on a hovering clipboard by the bedside. She knew it was recording his vitals – a testament to the fact that he was alive, even if it was barely.

Narcissa took a seat in the chair by the bed. She grasped Draco's hand and placed a soft kiss on its back.

It was then that Ginny noticed that there were IVs attached to his arms once again. There were wires protruding from underneath his patient gown, attached to other muggle devices that kept on making annoying beeping sounds at regular intervals. Merging muggle medicine and magical ways was not very common, and she had seen its use on Draco twice now. This was not normal. "W-What's wrong with him?" she asked.

Narcissa did not answer. Instead, she said, "You should leave. The visiting hours are almost over."

"You're still here," she could not help but point out.

"I'm his mother," came the icy reply, as if that reason would appease the hospital management.

The thought of hexing this woman was so tempting, but Ginny pushed it away. It was pointless, simple as that. She did not want to leave without answers, but it seemed that there was not much she could do. She looked once again at Draco, and all her irritation at his mother flew out the window. At this moment, he was the only person who mattered. The hospital staff would take good care of him, and whatever was wrong with him, he did need his rest. Perhaps, it was best to leave for now.

Ginny slipped out of the room wordlessly, her heart heavy with worry.

The next day, Ginny skipped breakfast, much to her mother's dismay, and rushed to the hospital first thing in the morning. Narcissa Malfoy was nowhere in sight, mercifully. Draco appeared to be worse, if that was even possible. His skin, though still pale, was covered in a sheen of sweat and his lips were turning blue. He looked so pitifully frail that she worried a mere touch would shatter him.

She walked over to the bed and placed her hand atop his. His skin was unbearably hot. "Draco," she spoke, her voice wavering. "Can you hear me?"

There was no answer, not that she had expected one.

The door to the room opened and Blaise Zabini walked in. If he was surprised to see her, he masked it well. "Miss Weasley," he greeted her politely as he walked over to the bed. He pulled out a vial containing a bright blue potion from his pocket and injected it into one of Draco's IV bags using a syringe. "You're up early."

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded.

"I'm afraid I can't–"

"Tell me, or I'm going to beat it out of you, Zabini."

"Then I will be indisposed and thus unable to help Draco," he said nonchalantly. Clearly, the threat had not affected him in the least. "I know how difficult this situation must be for you."

"You really don't."

Zabini's eyes flickered to her as he tossed the syringe in the bin. "You're right," he conceded as he grabbed the clipboard hovering the by bedside. His brows drew into a frown as he read the numbers on it.

"What's wrong?" she couldn't help but ask.

"His fever is beyond what the human body can normally endure," Zabini told her as he pulled out his wand. "I need to protect his vital organs from damage."

It was a lengthy process. A pale orange light emitted from the tip of his wand and shot at Draco's heart. It seeped underneath his skin, and a faint glow emanated from deep within him before vanishing into nothing. The process was repeated for each of the main organs and the wand moved from his chest to torso to temple, where it took some extra time to ensure that the fever would not cause any brain damage.

Watching Zabini work with such dedication and attention to detail drained Ginny's anger towards him. He was bound by the oaths he had sworn as a healer, and he was trying his best to save his best friend's life. Perhaps it would be better to tell him what she thought rather than demand answers from him. "It's not an infection," she began slowly. "You said he had one last time, but you two were very dodgy about it. I wonder if it was a lie."

He did not seem surprised or angry. In fact, she could have sworn he looked amused. "Do you?"

"In any case, whatever ails him now seems different. And worse."

For a moment, it looked like he was going to tell her everything, but then– "The answers you seek are not mine to give, Miss Weasley."

She looked back at Draco, who hadn't moved an inch this entire time. "He looks like he's dying," she said in a small voice.

"He won't," Zabini said with such confidence that she could not help but believe him. A bit. "I'm not going to let him."

"Why do you keep on visiting, Miss Weasley," Narcissa Malfoy wondered out loud. Garbed in fine robes of black, with her hair knotted into a neat bun, she was sitting in the armchair next to Draco's bed.

"Draco is important to me," Ginny replied simply. It was the next day and she had just entered the hospital room.

"And apparently you to him," Narcissa stated, eyeing her from head to toe with thinly veiled distaste. "Why else would he disobey my wishes and continue this dalliance with you?"

She did not bother gracing her with a reply. Instead, she took a seat on the other side of the bed and reached out to touch Draco's hand.

"Do your parents approve?"

"They don't," Ginny replied shortly. "I mean, mum might be coming around, but I'm not sure." Which was partly true. Her parents had inquired about Draco's health multiple times, but that could be because they were kind people by nature.

Narcissa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And yet you are willing to risk their disappointment for this?"

"It's my choice."

"You're a romantic, Miss Weasley." It was meant as an insult.

"If I am, then so is your son."

Those pale blue eyes flashed dangerously at that. "Pity."

They dissolved into silence at that, both staring at the feeble patient on the bed, who looked nothing like the man he had been mere days ago. He was still as a statue, the rise and fall of his chest barely noticeable. For a moment, Ginny thought she saw his finger twitch, but she could not be sure; she was wishing for him to move, to wake up, to return back to normal, so it was most likely that she had imagined it. "Had there been no change at all?" she asked.

"No," Narcissa replied shortly.

"How long do they think he's going to be like this? He cannot continue–"

The rest of her words were drowned as a gut-wrenching scream tore through the room. The two women both jumped in surprise as they watched Draco, who was now thrashing in the most unnatural ways. Ginny rushed forward, grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to calm him, but he shoved her away violently.

"Draco, stop," she said, feeling utterly helpless. "Just breathe. You'll be fine. Please!"

Her pleas went unanswered. He continued to howl until his voice was hoarse and there was blood in his mouth. His hands clawed at his torso and his throat, his nails leaving raw marks on his skin as he tried to rip his own body. Alarmed, she grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away before he caused actual harm, and he fought against her like a madman.

There were other sounds now: a shrill beeping sound as the monitors attached to him went off. The purple quill was scratching madly on the clipboard, filling in sheet after sheet.

The door burst open and Blaise Zabini rushed in, followed by a mediwitch and a horrified Narcissa, who had clearly done the smarter thing and fetched help.

"Please wait outside," Zabini ordered, and the two women were quick to obey.

Mrs. Malfoy had sunk into a chair with a shaky breath and buried her face in her hands. Ginny, on the other hand, was too shaken to sit still. She paced up and down the hallway, her mind reeling. The pain Draco must have been in to scream like that… And the way he had thrashed. Merlin.

After what felt like centuries, they were let inside once again. Draco was unconscious and the mediwitch was healing the inside of his mouth and throat. There were ropes around his wrists that shackled him to the bed.

"It's for his own protection," Zabini murmured softly. He did not look happy about having to do this, but clearly saw it as a necessity.

"Thank you, Blaise." Narcissa went to sit by the bed, her face an unreadable mask. Clearly, all the Malfoys knew how to hide their emotions very well.

Ginny found the sight heart-breaking. She was horrified, but even more so, scared that it had come to this. She couldn't bring herself to move closer to the bed or run away. She did not know which of those options she actually wanted to act on, nor did she understand what was right anymore.

A gentle touch on her arm caused her to jump. It was Zabini. He looked at her consolingly, his hand a small gesture of support and comfort, and then he left.

It was Christmas morning.

Ginny woke up early to find the outdoors covered in a layer of thick, white snow. The sky outside was clouded and a gust of crisp air blew in when she opened the window. She took a quick shower, pulled on her dark green sweater dress and black stockings and hurried downstairs.

There was a huge stack of presents in the living room, almost as high as the sparkling Christmas tree itself, which was not surprising at all. Bill had suggested, after Victorie's constant requests, that the entire family open their presents together. Ron, who had recently returned from his honeymoon, had declared that since it was Christmas, it would be cruel to expect him to wake up early and that everyone should have a bit of a lie-in. So, it had been decided by popular vote that the entire family and Harry, of course, would come to the Burrow for brunch.

The aroma of freshly baked coffee cake lured her to the kitchen, where she found her mother whisking the batter for pancakes. She walked up behind her and gave her a hug. "Happy Christmas, mum."

Molly jumped in surprise, then let out a laugh. "Merry Christmas, dear."

"Dad still asleep?"

Her mother made a face. "I tried waking him up, but he mumbled something about electric toasters and rolled away."

It seemed that her father's obsession with muggle devices was not going away anytime soon. Even after all this time, he would corner Hermione's parents and ask them about the function of a DVD. "It's Christmas, let him enjoy his dreams a bit longer," she said lightly, then accio-ed her coat. "I'm going to visit Draco."

"Must you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her mother hesitated for a moment, then spoke slowly, as if she was choosing her words carefully. "Like you said, it's Christmas. You can't spend the entire day in the hospital. Besides, everyone will be here soon and–"

"Don't worry, I'll be back by then," she promised before leaving.

St. Mungo's Hospital was generally emptier, not only because many of the Healers were off duty on Christmas but also because it was too early for visitors to start flooding in. There was a large tree by the reception, decorated with actual fairies and ornaments that sang carols when you passed by them. The hallways were empty of any decor, but the first thing that Ginny noticed when she stepped into Draco's room was a holly wreath hanging by the window. In its middle sat a small no-melt snowman figurine that smiled and waved at her.

The second thing that she noticed was what she thought was a true Christmas miracle: Draco was awake. He still looked terribly weak, and his limbs trembled as pain wracked through his body, but his hands were no longer tied to the bed.

She gravitated towards him and, unable to resist, leaned down to place a soft kiss on his chapped, blue lips. He moved beneath her, and then started coughing violently. Within half a minute, blood had started trickling down his nose and grunts of agony were escaping his lips. It took a mediwitch to calm him and prop his head up on a pillow so that his airway was not restricted.

"I'm so sorry," Ginny apologised for the fifth time once the mediwitch had left. She sank into the chair by the bed and touched his hand gingerly, not wanting to cause him any more pain. He might be awake now, but his fever felt as bad as ever.

He shook his head lightly, watching her with glassy eyes.

She took out a small packet wrapped in green paper with shimmering silver stars from her bag and handed it to him. "Happy Christmas, darling."

His trembling fingers fumbled with the ribbon, but it soon became apparent that he did not even have the strength to open it, so she offered to do it for him. The fact that he agreed was a testament to how weak he was; Draco was not a man who accepted help easily, after all. Still, she unwrapped it without letting her worry show on her face and placed it in his hand.

It was How to be a Good Dark Wizard? – the book she had seen in Flourish and Blotts.

The corners of his lips turned up in a small, barely noticeable small. "T-Thank you," he croaked, and halfway through the first word, his voice went away. He flipped it open to read, but the way he blinked made it obvious that his vision was swimming. Lowering it shakily, he whispered, "L-Later?"

"Of course." Ginny placed the book on the bedside table and reached into her bag once again. "Besides, that was more of a joke. This is your actual present." She took out a much smaller box, wrapped in the same paper. Inside it was a Puddlemere United pin and two Top Box tickets to the quarter finals of the League, for which Puddlemere had already qualified. The team they would be playing against was yet to be decided.

Draco glanced at the box. "L-Later?"

"Sure," she put it on top of the book, slightly disappointed. She knew how big of a Puddlemere United fan he was, and she wanted to see how excited he would get after seeing the tickets. "Are you okay?"

"L-Later…" He rasped. Within a few seconds, his eyes rolled back into his skull and he went still.

"Draco?" she stood up in panic, wondering if she should call for help. Was Zabini on-duty today? Before she could reach a decision, someone spoke up behind her.

"It's alright." Narcissa Malfoy had walked in the room, carrying a steaming mug of coffee and a small paper bag with the logo of the hospital tearoom printed on it. "The healers did say that he would not be able to stay conscious for long, but that he has managed to gain it in the first place is indeed a positive sign."

"What else did they say?" Ginny asked.

"I think it's time for you to leave, Miss Weasley."

"I think you ought to stop ordering me, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You are of no use here." Narcissa marched over to stand before her, her gaze steely and her lips pressed tight in distaste. "Go, celebrate Christmas with your family and let me spend it with mine."

There was something in her voice, something hidden behind the icy exterior and the harsh words that kept Ginny from arguing. Was it envy? Perhaps. But no, it was more than that – it was loneliness. The woman's husband was in Azkaban and her only son was in hospital. The reason she was facing this with strength and stubbornness was because she had no other choice; there was no one she could lean on.

"I can stay if you want," Ginny offered kindly.

"Please, don't," came the cold reply.

Well, she did try. Nothing much left to say now. With a shrug, Ginny moved to place a soft kiss on Draco's brow. "I'll visit soon," she promised, and walked out of the room.

The Burrow was brimming with life – and noise! After a delicious brunch in the backyard, the entire family had filed into the living room to open presents, an activity that involved a lot of squealing from five-year-old Victorie and three-year-old Fred.

Ginny sat down at the foot of the couch, which was occupied by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Audrey, and stared at the small pile of gifts before her. Her mum had knitted her a navy jumper with a gold 'G' on its front. Fleur had baked her a box of chocolate chip muffins. Charlie got her a dragon shaped figurine that breathed fire when tugged its tail ("Great for roasting marshmallows in your bedroom," he said with a grin). Percy and Audrey had gifted her a thick book about the history of broomsticks, while George and Angelina gave her a huge box containing the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products. Ron and Hermione, who had recently returned from their honeymoon in Bali, got her a box of Chocolate Luwak. Harry gave her a beautiful handwoven scarf.

There was one small box remaining, which was odd. Hadn't she unwrapped the presents from everyone already? Oh well. With a shrug, she tore the shimmery silver paper and opened the box, only to let out a gasp. Inside was a beautiful pendant: a small, sparkling diamond and a single, white pearl nestled in a silver frame, attached to a thin, silver chain. There was a small, folded note written in a familiar neat hand:

Yes, I know you think this is expensive.
No, it is not 'too much'. Just shut up and accept it.
Merry Christmas, darling.
– Draco Malfoy
P.S. Look at me, coming up with counters to arguments that haven't even started yet. I blame you.

She couldn't help but let out a small laugh as she read the last line. He must have sent it before he got sick.

Once all the presents had been opened, they headed out to the backyard once again. The sun had come out and the snow shined in its rays. Victorie and Fred hurried along to build a snowman, under the watchful eye of Molly and Fleur, which was a pretence; everyone knew that the two women merely needed some uninterrupted time to swap baking recipes. Arthur, Percy and Hermione sat at the table, deep in discussion about the latest political scandal that the Department of International Magical Cooperation was dealing with.

The others were ready to play some Quidditch, only there was a problem. "Someone will have to sit out, or it won't be even teams," Angelina pointed out. One team consisted of Bill, George and Ron, while the other had Charlie, Angelina, Audrey and Ginny.

"Where's Harry?" Bill asked.

"He's inside, talking to little Teddy Lupin over the Floo," George replied. "Which means it'll take him a while. He can talk to that kid for hours!"

"Well, I suppose we'll have to play like this, then."

"That's not fair," Ron complained. "Whichever team Ginny plays for will win. She's been training and all that."

"Have some confidence in your talent, mate." Charlie grinned.

"Actually, I don't feel like playing," Ginny spoke up. Shouts of protest broke out instantly, with most of her brothers trying to get her to join and Ron mumbling something about how three against four was still not fair. She told them multiple times that she really wasn't in the mood and would rather be a spectator, but no one was having it. Finally, she held up her hands. "Alright, alright! Why don't you all go ahead, and I'll join the game once Harry returns. It'll be even teams then."

"And we wouldn't have to listen to Ron whine, so that's a plus," Charlie joked as he hopped on his broom.

Ginny watched the six of them rise into the air, tossing a Quaffle to each other, their laughter ringing in the air. Normally, she was the first one to play but today she found herself feeling rather numb. She was there, in the middle of the Christmas festivities, and yet she felt as if she was watching all of this from far away.

It was not difficult to figure out why it was so. The absence of Fred hung in the air, as it always did on occasions such as this, but it had become but an ache over time. They all knew that he'd have wanted them all to be happy, and they all made sure to raise a glass and make a few jokes in his memory. Yet, despite the injustice of losing her brother so, her family was together, united, healthy and happy. She was blessed.

Draco was not.

Sure, the Malfoys had brought this upon themselves. She couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry for Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy, but the thought of Draco made her tremble. He was sick, so sick that he couldn't even unwrap the present she had gotten him. And the fever and the failing organs and the screaming in agony… The worst part was that there was nothing she could do to help. Narcissa had been right to say that she was of no use there.

Unbidden, a wave of emotion crashed over her, plunging her into a feeling of despair so raw that she felt her throat clog. She'd been trying to put on a brave face these past few days, but the walls were crashing down now. Not wanting her family to see her in this state, she hurried back into the house, ran up the stairs into her room, where she broke down into tears.

A few minutes passed and then a bewildered Harry stepped into the doorway. "Ginny?" he asked as his eyes fell on her. Alarmed, he rushed in and sat down next to her on the bed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, wiping her tears frantically.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

"You go on. I'll… I'll come down in a bit."

"I'm not leaving you," he said firmly, and she shook her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Talk to me, Gin."

"I can't," she sniffed. "Not about this."

Something flashed in his bright green eyes, and he wagered a guess. "Draco?"

The sound of his name prompted another traitorous tear to escape her eye. "It's been awful," she couldn't help but say. She had never felt this helpless in her entire life.

"Has there been no change?" Harry asked. He knew, of course. So did her entire family. They had all inquired about Draco's condition politely, except for Ron, who probably wished him a slow and painful death.

"He was awake today, for a bit. But it didn't look good," she told him. "And they still won't tell me what exactly is wrong with him."

He wrapped an arm around her to comfort her, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "Well, if he's awake then that shows progress," he supplied.

"I suppose," Ginny mumbled. They stayed like that for a short while, and she realised that her tears had stopped. She felt drained, but at least it was better than feeling miserable. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"You didn't have to listen to me go on about Draco," she said softly. "It must be difficult."

"It is," he said flatly. "I don't like the bloke or the fact that you're wasting your precious tears on him."

"Not wasting."

"No?"

"No," she replied with conviction. Her relationship with Draco, wherever it goes or whenever it ends, will be many things, but not a waste.

Harry nodded slowly and looked down at his hands, deep in thought. His lips curved into a small smile, though there was nothing happy about it. "Admit it," he said in a light tone, but she could detect some bitterness in it. "Things would have been much simpler if you and I were still together."

"Maybe." She knew for a fact that things would have indeed been much simpler had she been with Harry, but would they have been for the better? "There's no point in thinking about things that cannot be, though."

Her response seemed to anger him. "Why do you say that?" he demanded. "Like-like there's no hope for us."

Ginny frowned. After all this time, he couldn't possibly be still confused about where they stood. "I'm with Draco," she said matter-of-factly.

"For reasons I'll never understand–"

"You don't have to understand. But you need to accept it."

"How can I?" He jumped to his feet and started pacing restlessly, as if he needed to move to keep himself from bashing something. As he spoke, his voice steadily grew louder, reminding her of the fact that it wasn't just the Weasley temper that was dangerous. The Potter anger could be equally frightening. "Draco Malfoy, the git who made our lives miserable at Hogwarts, bullied your brother, bullied Hermione, said awful things about your family – and that's before he became a Death Eater."

"I know all that," she snapped impatiently. Ever since her relationship with Draco had come into the light, she'd heard this very list at least a few dozen times by different members of her family. It was infuriating. Could they not understand that she wasn't some foolish, lovesick girl who had walked into this blind?

"Do you, now?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Has he even told you about his missions? About all the things he did for Voldemort?"

He had not, but that was not the point. "You defended him at his trial."

"Because he didn't deserve to go to Azkaban." He waved a hand carelessly. "That doesn't mean it's alright to hop into his bed–"

"You're being a hypocrite, Harry!" Ginny hissed angrily as she stood up, trying her best not to give into the temptation of pulling out her wand and hexing him.

"Fine!" he roared, holding up his hands as if in defeat. "I mean, you clearly know what's best for you. And even if you don't, you're still going to do damn well as you please!"

"Damn right, I am!" she shot back. "You don't get to decide how I should live my life."

"Not decide. Expect," Harry corrected her. "After everything we've been through, I expected that you would at least consider trying again." Those words seem to deflate his anger in an instant, and he reached out and grabbed her hands in his. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, pleading. "Every relationship has its problems, Gin. You and I, we decided to run away rather than face them. If we try again, I know we can make it work."

"Easier said than done," she whispered shakily. Something in his tone had evaporated her fury as well; she understood his pain all too well, and that she was the cause of it filled her with guilt.

"Nobody said it'll be easy. But you and I, we're too brave to let that scare us away." He took a step closer to her. "I still love you, Ginny."

"I know you do. And a part of me loves you, but–"

"No 'but'."

For a moment, she wanted to stop talking, but it would be cruel to lie to him. "But we cannot get back together." He looked like he was about to protest, so she went on, her own voice kind and pleading, hoping that he would understand. "Harry, ending our relationship shattered me in ways I can't even explain. Every morning I'd wake up and you wouldn't be by my side and I struggled to get out of bed, to eat, to breathe, to–" Ginny broke up, all of a sudden haunted by all the memories of her and Harry together, of the flat they shared, of the life they had lived for years before it all went to shit. It had been so unbearably difficult to pick up the pieces afterwards; it had taken an all-consuming dive into her career and a certain aristocratic blond git who had sprung up on her in the most unexpected way to heal her, if a bit. "I cannot risk my heart again. It'll kill me." Gently, she placed her hands on his cheeks, her eyes boring into his. "I can be very brave, Harry, but I'm not this brave."

Silence followed her words, but neither of them looked away. Then, Harry kissed her. It was soft, slow, and reminded her of lazy mornings in bed and long baths and solemn promises that no longer mattered. He pulled away, his face reflecting an ebbing hope that he was desperately trying to hold on to. "Together or not, you can always come talk to me, Gin," he said finally. "You shouldn't cry alone."

If anyone had been watching them, they would say that Harry was much more in control of himself now, but she could tell that he had put on a mask. It pained her that he had to do this before her, but had she not just asked him to do so? "I know."

He cleared his throat, then glanced out the window where Charlie was trying to snatch the Quaffle from Ron. "We should head out," he said. "Join the game."

"Yes." She glanced in the mirror and quickly wiped her cheeks. Her eyes were a bit red, but hopefully no one will notice once she's up in the air. "Let's."

"What do you mean he's gone?" Ginny demanded, glaring at Blaise Zabini.

"I mean exactly what those words mean," Zabini retorted impatiently as he moved past her and started down the hallway, a clipboard in hand. "Draco is gone."

"But how?" she asked as she hurried to keep up with him. It was the morning after Christmas and she'd decided to visit Draco, only to find no sign of him in the hospital room. "He was in no condition to be discharged."

"Narcissa–Mrs. Malfoy moved him last night, said it would be too dreary if Draco spends the rest of the holidays in hospital," he told her. "Rest assured, he will be provided with the best, round-the-clock healing care. She and I have made sure of that."

"So, he's at the Manor?"

"Not to my knowledge," Zabini stopped. "I was off-duty yesterday. I'm supposed to be off-duty today too, but here I am, much to the dismay of my wife, but I have a patient that I need to tend to right away."

"I won't keep you, then."

"He'll get in touch, don't worry," He started to walk away once again. "Good day, Miss Weasley."

Ginny had gone to the Malfoy Manor anyway, and sure enough, Yugo had told her that no one was home. She'd checked herself in case the house-elf was lying but evidently, he was not. She'd even swung by the Malfoy Corporation, where Greta told her that Draco hadn't been in office for days and was expected to return after New Year's.

The next few days were hell.

She had no idea where Draco was and there was no word from him. She wasn't sure if she could blame him though; he was terribly sick, or he had been the last she saw him, but what his condition was now she could not tell. If he was sick, then getting in touch would have been the last thing on his mind. And there were more chances of Hermione setting fire to libraries than of Narcissa writing to update her about Draco's health. And if he was no longer sick and was not writing to her, well then he will die at her hands.

So, she remained in the dark, going insane with worry. She visited St. Mungo's again, only to find out that Zabini had travelled abroad as well. How convenient. So, she sent Draco letters (and a rather colourful howler) and waited.

It was on the thirtieth of December that she returned to her room after a long walk and found a majestic eagle owl that she recognised immediately sitting on her windowsill. He hooted in his usual patronising way when she relieved him of the envelope tied to his leg, and then flew away.

Ginny was too distracted to call the bird a git, like she always did. Instead, she tore open the envelope. A folded parchment, a midnight-blue card and a pin with an orchid on it fell out. Frowning, she picked up the pin, then the card, which was written in French. But as she watched, the golden letters rearranged themselves in English:

Miss Ginevra Weasley,
You're cordially invited to the
Lefebvre New Year's Eve Ball
Saturday, 31st December
Seven o'clock
Château d'Orchidée

The enclosed pin is a Portkey that will bring you to the Sierra Hotel, Paris, where a room has been booked in your name.
Arrangements to bring you to the Château d'Orchidée have also been made.
The Portkey will leave at two o'clock on the 31st December.

She raised an eyebrow. A ball? Well, she'd worry about that later. Putting aside the card and the pin, she picked up the folded parchment, which was – her heart thudded madly – written by Draco himself. The usually neat, slanted writing was shaky this time, as if it was either written in a hurry or in pain.

Ginevra,
I apologise for disappearing so abruptly, but I am better now.
I know you have many questions, and I think the time has come for you know the answers.
Come to the ball and we will talk. I promise.
– Draco Malfoy

Ginny Weasley had looked forward to the winter holidays.

Instead, she had seen her boyfriend close to death because of a mystery illness. She had broken Harry's heart, though she did feel that conversation had been a necessary one. And she had spent days going mad with worry, only to end up with an invitation to a bloody ball.

Well, she was going to attend, there was no question about that. She needed to see Draco, and she very much needed some answers.

Leave a review and please do let me know what you thought about the chapter. Your feedback means the world to me!

I've planned the next chapter and I'll be getting started on it right away. Hopefully, it should be out soon. In the meantime, I know how frightening the situation has been globally due to COVID-19. Let us stay optimistic. Please, take care of yourself and your loved ones. Take the necessary precautions and stay safe.

Until next time!