Oh my dear, dear God. I'm SO sorry all of you, I really am. I've been so busy with everything, I can't even believe I got this out as soon as I did. In fact, I should be working on my 30 minute Spanish presentation right now, but I really don't care. I couldn't stay away any longer. I feel horrible enough as it is! I hope you enjoy this installment and that you will consider forgiving me.

AOME: CHP 15

I felt like I had been drugged. My eyes kept going in and out of focus as I slipped through my thoughts lethargically. I could vaguely sense Rosmerta's arm still snugly wrapped around my shoulder as she led me through the labyrinth of twisting wooden hallways and locked doors. It seemed like we had been walking forever. A small, infinitesimal part of me knew this wasn't true, but it was barely a whisper in my realm of thought.

After the initial near-accident concerning the wall, Rosmerta had tightened her grip on my shoulder and started speaking to me to focus my attention. It was working, though only just.

Every time my mind clouded over to replay the image of Draco with his hands shoved casually in his pockets smirking at me, she would ask a question in a rather rude manner, interrupting my musings. Her voice grew louder with every successive attempt, and my attention span diminished likewise.

I was just immersing myself into a fetching rendition of said type when a biting pain pinched at sensitive skin on the back of my arm. My body jerked involuntarily, much like it does when you're just about to fall asleep and then you suddenly feel like you're falling. Don't lie to me, you all know what I'm talking about—those embarrassing episodes when you jump ten feet in the air and then awaken only to embarrassingly discover that you're perfectly secure on your bed. Don't pretend it doesn't happen to you.

The point is it was more or less the same sensation, save for the fact that instead of finding myself on a soft mattress I was completely upright and leaning rigidly against a doorframe. Blinking several times, I looked up to see Rosmerta twisting an old brass key in the door, bent over her task in concentration. Despite this, I wasn't foolish enough to think that she wasn't fully aware of what had been going inside my head a moment ago.

"Down back on solid ground, are we?" she asked. She pushed open the door and nodded to indicate that I enter.

I walked through the threshold, albeit a bit unsteadily, and found myself in a large, open room. It was humbly but comfortably decorated, and I found it pleasant overall. A bed and a desk were in one half, a small yet functional kitchenette in another. An overstuffed sofa stood in the middle of the space near a low table covered with a stack of books. There were several windows on the far wall, and a single door stood at the right end of the room near the bed and desk.

"Not much to look at, but it serves its purpose," I heard her say over my shoulder.

I chuckled softly, and the action made me slightly woozy. "Not at all—it strikes me as a less-cluttered version of my home, actually," I responded.

Rosmerta ushered me farther into the space, shutting the door behind her.

"It used to be an attic, or loft, or something. Not really sure, to be honest. I renovated years and years ago. I've most everything I need up here," she smiled fondly, dropping onto the sofa and draping an arm over the back.

"Up here?" A feeling of absolute bewilderment suddenly ran icily down my spine.

I really hadn't remembered going up any stairs.

She smiled in reply, telling me all I needed to know and more.

The feeling intensified sickeningly. I had been that bloody incoherent? I rubbed at my eyes with the palms of my hands, groaning.

"Don't fret on it. You just need some time. It's been a long day," she said, leaning her head back onto the cushions.

My hands stilled, and I let them slowly slide down my face to rest on the back of my neck.

"I imagine you're right," I responded, thinking back to the few minutes I had stolen after the chess match out of sheer necessity. I'm still not really sure how to describe why I did that, but it was like my mind was unraveling piece by piece from all of the days complexities, and the time to myself was what it took to sew everything back together. It made sense, really—it's similar to how you feel when you're awake for far too long; your mind is incredibly fatigued and you don't want to think about much of anything, much less things of a complicated nature, which Draco most certainly was. I needed to recharge, to gather my sanity.

Evidently those few minutes in the bathroom just hadn't done the job.

I plopped onto the sofa next to Rosmerta, mimicking her position on the cusions by throwing my head back onto the headrest. I stared blankly up into the bare vaulted ceiling. I could feel her doing the same.

"The shower's right through the door."

"Mmm…" I responded lazily.

A pause, while we both enjoyed the silence, and then:

"Do you suppose it's too bad outside for the owls?" I asked, not turning to look at her.

There was a squeak while she craned her neck to look out the window behind her.

"That depends. It's far too cold out to travel any great lengths. I don't know for certain, but I don't imagine your house is anywhere near here."

I snorted. "Yeah, because the first thing I'd want to do is mail my mum and tell her I'm stuck in a pub with Draco sodding Malfoy."

Rosmerta laughed breathily. "I beg your pardon, but this is a family establishment"

"Right, can't leave that out. She'll be thrilled to hear you're now serving firewhiskey to all ages."

My breath shot out of me in a whoosh as a pillow collided with my midsection. I smiled, satisfied with my show of wit.

"You've been spending too much time with that bloke of yours."

"I know," I sighed, throwing an arm over my eyes. "But you know, I'm kind of like that anyway, Draco or no. He just sort of brings it out."

"Fabulous thing, that," came her sarcastic, somewhat muffled reply.

"So, about the owls…." I digressed, glaring in her direction.

"Yes, them. To Hogwarts, then?"

"Yeah. It's not that far, really—about a mile and a half, probably less when in the air."

"Is it urgent?"

"Not terribly. I was going to mail one of my Housemates for some nightclothes." I saw her shrug out the corner of my eye.

"That shouldn't be too troublesome. There's a bit of parchment and a quill on that desk somewhere."

After taking a final moment to enjoy the comfort of the sofa, I rose and walked over to the neat desk. I hurriedly scrawled a brief note to Hermione, requesting that she owl back a pair of pajamas and some fresh socks and knickers. I folded the parchment rather unevenly, and set it on the table in front of Rosmerta.

"Mind if I head in, then?" I asked.

"Have at it," she said, rising from the sofa and stretching her arms over her head. She then grabbed my letter off of the table and began making her way towards the door. "There's fresh towels and so forth in there. I'm going to run downstairs and track down the owl. Holler if you need anything."

"I will, thanks."

She smiled a final time before exiting the room and shutting the door behind her.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply in order to relish the feeling of being alone once more, and then wasted no time in quickly crossing the room to the bathroom. I pushed open the door and found myself in a mid-sized, L-shaped bathroom with both tub and separate shower stall complete with sliding glass doors. A single vanity was on the left wall, and a multi-tiered wooden shelf covered in towels stood between the tub and shower.

I undressed eagerly, letting my multiple layers of clothing fall into a crumpled pile on the floor. I avoided the tub, being more or a shower person to begin with, and slid aside the doors and walked into the shower, shivering slightly as my bare feet touched the cold tile. I twisted the nozzle hurriedly, and my breath caught when the scorching water reached my skin. My muscles loosened beneath the pressure and heat, and for the first time in what felt like hours I was actually what I would call warm. The feeling was complete bliss after the events of the day.

I stood in the steaming water for what felt like an eternity that wasn't nearly long enough before turning in search of some hair cleansing potion. There was a small metal rack hanging on the wall, and I located what appeared to be a lavender-scented array of bathroom essentials, including hair cleansing and hydrating potions, body washes, and facial something-or-other. I grabbed one of the potions and lathered it into my soaked hair. I spent far too much time doing this, but the thought of hurrying through the process didn't even occur to me. I rinsed my hair and repeated the process with the other potion, and then grabbed a nearby bath sponge and randomly selected a form of the various washes. I began scrubbing at my soiled skin vigorously in attempt to rid myself of all forms of filth. The concoction seemed to soothe it somewhat, and gave off a rather pleasant aroma.

All too soon I found that I had utterly run out of things to cleanse. Still, I was reluctant to leave the steamy sanctuary of the small space. I enjoyed the way my mind was able to wander aimlessly and incoherently within its walls. Several minutes after the last bubbles had slide off of my skin, I finally turned off the water.

I cracked open the doors and groped blindly for a towel, drying off quickly within the warm, steamed-filled chamber. After wrapping the towel around my chest I stepped out of the walls and in front of the mirror.

My skin was somewhat flushed, but I felt indescribably better. I knelt to fish out the plastic comb from the pocket of my trousers, thankful that I had kept it. Though it was more than a bit of a struggle, I managed to work it through my thick hair, though only just; I suddenly found myself cursing McGonagall once again for my lack of magic and preventing what could have taken only a few words and replacing it with minutes of painful yanking.

Just as I was methodically dealing with the last of the knots, a sharp, deliberate noise caused me to jump. The plastic comb clattered to the sink, and my hands flew to the knot of the towel mechanically. Being nearly nude in a foreign environment is nerve-racking enough, and if you think that's bad, try being in the same place with the bloke who makes your skin tingle. Then and only then will you learn the true meaning of the word 'paranoia'.

The noise came again, and my heightened, acute senses determined that it was a knock.

Merlin I was a quick one.

I took one slow, timid step towards the door and pressed my ear against its surface, listening intently for any indication as to who was standing on the other side. My whole body tensed with concentration.

"Ginny?"

I barely managed to stifle my cry of surprise at the sound of a voice, and took a deep, shuddery breath as I identified it as only Rosmerta.

"Y-yes, sorry."

"It appears your friend was more than prepared—she's mailed you back already."

I ran a hand through my hair, amazed at the effect my nerves had just pressed upon themselves. The mere thought of Draco's presence in the room next to mine had been enough to send my nerves into a bloody frenzy. Feeling utterly powerless, I abruptly twisted the handle and opened the door, not wanting to be left alone with such thoughts.

Rosmerta's calm face was waiting on the other side of the doorway. If she noticed my frazzled condition she offered no indication, and simply presented a small brown parcel, with a slightly calculating gaze.

"Thanks so much," I managed, swallowing under her stare. I took the package with one hand. "I'll just uh—" I gestured vaguely with my head behind me, unable to think clearly yet.

She merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, and I took the opportunity to retreat awkwardly back into the bathroom.

I opened the parcel eagerly, anxious for anything that would make me feel like I was more at home than a bath towel. Hermione had penned me a short note, stating that she was glad to hear that I was safe, and that she was doing her best to convince Ron and Harry of the same. I set it aside, and found my nicest pair of pajamas, fresh knickers and socks like I had requested. I also discovered that she had included my journal, and I welcomed the means of release with open arms. I dressed quickly, tidying the bathroom as necessary before folding my other clothing under my arm and leaving.

Rosmerta was draped across the sofa, using the arm as a headrest. She peered over the top of the tattered paperback in her hand when the bathroom door clicked shut behind me.

"Feeling better?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. I revised my earlier theory stating she hadn't noticed my odd behavior when she had knocked on the door. Why I had even been tempted to imagine she wouldn't have noticed is beyond me, but what's done is done.

"Yes, thank you. Sorry about earlier, I thought you were…well, you just gave me a right good scare, is all."

"I see," she responded, closing the novel and setting it on the table in front of her.

I glanced down at my wristwatch—8:00 pm. The idea of going down to my lonely room alone was somewhat unappealing, as was the option of sitting around a fire with complete strangers. I glanced around Rosmerta's quarters longingly.

"Madam Rosmerta, would you mind if I stayed up here for awhile? I don't fancy being alone underground quite yet, and I'm afraid I don't know anyone around the fire…"

"It's fine with me, though I think it would be more prudent to ask Draco about the matter than I." She rose from the couch, again stretching her arms over her head. "I'll go fetch him, then. Settle in wherever you like." She disappeared through the doorway.

Taking her advice, I took a seat on the floor in front of the couch. The pile of books scattered across the table caught my eye almost immediately, and I decided to take a look at some of them. If I was any sort of lucky maybe Rosmerta got some of her wisdom from them and I could learn the origin of some of her uncanny abilities. Merlin knows that knowledge would come in handy on more than one occasion.

I found the old paperback she had been reading earlier, which turned out to be an old Muggle classic that I'd never heard of. I considered reading the first chapter, but upon discovering that I couldn't even understand the dialogue decided that perhaps I didn't want to read it after all. What kind of name is Wuthering Heights, anyway? I decided I didn't care, and set it aside.

Other than the rather odd sounding Muggle novel, I found all the other books to be non-fiction. This wasn't really a surprise—she appeared to be a very well-informed woman. There was a relatively recent issue of Witch Weekly and copy of The Daily Prophet. I found a copy of an old-looking book entitled Magical Mysteries, another called Everyday Medicine and Magic, and an aged tome that appeared to be some sort of history book.

It wasn't until I reached the very bottom of the pile that something caught my attention. The title of the book was a word I had heard once or twice before, though not in reference to the magical world: Psychology. Intrigued, I flipped open the cover and skimmed through the table of contents. Some of it was utter gibberish, but I was able to recognize a few of the topics. I paged to the portion on personality, and briefly read through a portion concerning birth order and its influence on personality. I couldn't refrain from laughing when I read that the "only child" could have problems with accepting the idea that the world doesn't revolve around them, and was feeling quite smug until I read something that mentioned the "youngest child" could often be manipulative and quite unmotivated.

I was so absorbed in the text that I didn't even notice the shadow that slid over the page— a sad fact, but at said time I was quite determined to uncover some of the keys to Rosmerta's knowledge, convinced it would help me with Draco. That whole thing is quite ironic considering who the shadow belonged to.

"Interested in finding the key to your unconscious, are you?" My whole body jumped as I gasped, the heavy book slapping shut as it slipped through my hands in shock. My knee slammed into the hard undersurface of the table, and I instinctively snapped my head up to find the source of the voice, though I could have identified it if I were deaf.

He stood casually in front of the table, hands in his pockets and hair brushed carelessly out of his eyes. When my hear rate didn't slow down after the initial scare I didn't need to wonder why. His damnable eyes were burning the blood in my veins, and I felt my body start to flush from the inside out.

When he raised a single eyebrow I realized that he was still awaiting an answer.

I swallowed before speaking, hating that my reactions were growing steadily more severe. "I haven't come to that chapter yet, actually." I reached out to massage my aching knee with one hand.

"Ever heard of Sigmund Freud?"

I shook my head, watching in a semi-Stupified state as he walked leisurely toward the table.

"He has a theory, a rather controversial one, stating that our personalities are purely primal, animalistic if you will." He slowly sauntered around the table and fell gracefully to the sofa directly behind me. I felt my spine tingle almost painfully, but didn't turn around. "The motivators behind all of our actions are sex and aggression, or so he says." One of his hands began to reach down, way down, and I felt myself tense. His low chuckle resonated in my ear, ceasing my breathing. I was fairly certain if I titled my head to the side ever so slightly his lips would touch the skin just behind my ear, and believe it or not that did little to nothing to ease my nerves. "Relax, Weasley, I'm only after the book."

I cursed mentally, though for two different reasons entirely. The first was that I had really been hoping he hadn't noticed all of that. The second is far too embarrassing to mention, and coming from me that's saying something. All I will provide on the matter is that it really is remarkable how many perverted things you hear growing up with brothers, and as such, I generally consider myself immune to all sorts of vulgar language and or inappropriate imagery. So when I say that this particular image made me flush so badly I thought I was going to faint, you can imagine the level of perversion it exhibited.

The book, which I had for some mysterious reason forgotten when he entered the room, suddenly seemed to regain its place on top of my thigh as I was once again aware of its weight.

His fingers, which apparently hadn't caused me enough utter turmoil, took their time in sliding beneath the thick text, the weight of the pages pressing them into my flesh. I forced my muscles to remain still, a testament to hidden willpower that I didn't even know I had possessed. Though his fingers were only in contact with my leg for a few moments, it ached feverishly from the restraint.

I heard the springs of the sofa squeak as he readjusted himself on the cushions, and tried to ignore the now cold space on my thigh. The flutter of pages followed, and I craned my neck to see Draco's grey eyes skimming rapidly over the text, a finger poised near the corner as if ready for a page turn. I was reminded of the focused expression his face took during chess.

"What're you looking for?"

He didn't respond, simply narrowing his eyes slightly as he began flipping to a desired page.

Another one of my less-desirable traits is my complete intolerance for being ignored. I grow extremely impatient when this happens, mostly because I think ignoring someone is completely and entirely rude—what would it take to mutter a simply response? So I wasn't surprised when I felt myself grow slightly irritated at his lack of attention.

"Draco, what're you—"

"Ah, yes. Here we are."

In one fluid motion I suddenly found two arms wrapped around me from behind, gesturing to text on the page. And just like that my anger was gone. Despite his evident intent to get me to listen to him, however, I found myself very distracted by the placement of his legs, which he had somehow managed to position on either side of my shoulders in only a few seconds.

The text that had been so interesting minutes before, however, lost all forms of significance compared to the way the fabric of his trousers was stretched over the muscles of his thighs, which were currently eye-level and very close.

I vaguely heard his low, velvety draw somewhere near my ear, but couldn't bring myself to focus on the meaning of the words when the sound itself was comfort enough.

I felt myself floating, much like the feeling I had experienced during my trip upstairs with Rosmerta. There was only the hum of Draco's voice behind me, the gentle brush of his oxford shirt against my bare arm. I wanted to wrap myself in those senses, to envelop myself into a sealed space with his aura, his essence.

All at once I began to hear his voice more clearly, a soft, echoing sound that made me want to wrap my arms around my chest to ease the ache it caused somewhere deep inside it. I could hear him calling my name, the sound of it on his tongue causing my toes to curl. He repeated it over, and over, and over, and—

"Ginny."

Oh dear.

That really couldn't be a good thing.

I blinked several times as the world seemed to rematerialize around me blearily.

"Ginny."

When a hand passed in front of my face I realized in horror that I hadn't been hearing Draco's voice in my head at all—I had completely spaced out.

Well, on the positive side I wasn't hearing voices. Whether or not that outnumbered the fact that I now looked like a complete dolt is rather subjective.

I drew in a deep breath and slowly ran my hands over my face, rising from the floor, only to be stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I was hesitant to turn and show him the wariness, confusion and complete vulnerability that was no doubt reflecting in my eyes, but my body responded before my mind could even properly suggest not doing so. It really is astounding how often that happens, though I'm starting to think that his touch may have had something to do with why I was suddenly leaning into his arm, letting him spin me around like a doll. It's just a theory.

Regardless, I found myself facing him, and I'm glad I did so, lest I miss the fleeting look of concern that flittered across his features. The warmth in my chest began to spread once again, and I wanted to bathe in the feeling.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "About all of that, I mean." I doubted there was any way to rationalize my peculiar behavior, but it was bloody well worth the effort if it meant he would think me any less odd.

"Are you alright?" he asked, ignoring my apology with narrowed eyes.

I opened my mouth to say yes, but in the next second realized there was no way I could lie when beneath that gaze. Was it okay to go this severely crazy for someone? Was it normal to lose your sense of reality, to fall away from the world when in their presence? Was it 'alright' to find your mind dominated, clouded by the mere thought of them?

If so, that sure explains a lot about where all my parents' craziness comes from. Same goes for Ron and his "Hermione Situation", as he liked to call it.

Still, I honestly didn't know the answer.

"I don't know much of anything anymore," I responded, shaking my head slowly. The solid grey of his stoic eyes offered some solace; I felt them wrap me inside their iron gates.

The hand resting on my shoulder slid down my arm to rest at my elbow. Draco rose, ushering me up from the floor by a slight tug at the arm, and directed me to where he had been sitting a moment ago on the sofa. I let myself sink into the cushions, which were warm from his body heat. He crouched in front of me.

"Are you okay for a few minutes? You're not ill? I don't want you getting sick all over the place while I'm in the shower."

"No, it's nothing like that. I just…I'm going mental, is all. It's terribly confusing, I don't even really understand myself—"

"Weasley," he interjected, "stop. I'm a grown man, of legal age and everything." He smirked at me, and I almost flushed; I certainly didn't need reminding of that. "Trust me when I say that I can handle a little chaos and confusion, will you?"

I nodded.

He smirked again. "I've always wondered what makes you so bloody crazy. I guess now I'll actually get to find out."

"That may not be such a good idea," I mumbled, not missing the sharp look he sent my way.

"Get some rest," he ordered, glancing away and back again before adding less seriously, "Merlin knows you need it."

I smiled slightly. "Rather like how you need that shower."

With a final quirk of his lips he turned, strolling towards the bathroom door. When he disappeared behind it I distinctly noticed the lack of the "click" signifying the lock. I only just managed to supress my subconscious' suggestion of the potential opportunities this provided.

The final click of the door seemed to finalize a decision that had been building in the back of my mind—I was going to tell him.

Then, in rapid succession, I felt my chest constrict with his absence and then immediately become nauseated for feeling such a way.

I had always known my mind deteriorated without time alone, but now it fell apart when he wasn't around? I wanted to scream. I had to tell him.

I reached for my journal almost desperately, wondering if it could offer any help to me now. The leather offered a slight feeling of relief, and I hastily made my way over to Rosmerta's desk, anxious to see if the writing would continue to help. My fingers sought out the quill on her desk, the binding of my book creaking as I pried it open to a blank page.

Without considering a syllable I found the instrument gliding across the parchment. Words appeared describing my gratitude for Rosmerta, my steady mental declination, how utterly bad I was at chess, the look on Draco's face when he was asleep and the scent of lavender. The expressions pouring out of me took tension with them, lessening the pull on the anxious, exhausted, trembling nerves of my body. I felt my mind going beautifully and blissfully blank, and could have sworn I almost physically heard it sigh in relief.

I didn't notice how much I'd written until I realized I needed to turn the page.

I sighed, contentment beginning to slowly work its way back into my being. I closed my eyes and suddenly felt as if it were possible to be back in my dormitory, the familiar feeling of comfort after a long day overwhelming and relaxing.

My illusion was shattered by the sudden sound of rushing water. Draco had just stepped into the shower.

I waited for the anxiety to come seeping back into me, but no such thing happened. The peace was nearly overpowering—don't get me wrong, the realization that I was still very much alone in an unfamiliar place with a currently nude Draco still caused a bit of discomfort, but I no longer felt like my head was going to implode from sheer….sheer, I don't even know!

The noise did focus my thoughts onto what I was going to do about the one responsible for the sound of water splattering against the tiled walls. There was simply no way I could hide from him any longer—such a thing was very much unlike me anyhow, and I was fairly convinced my mind was going to liquefy if it wasn't completely free of the burden it was carrying. The only problem of course was how I was going to go about doing this. Telling him seemed nearly impossible. I mean, what words do you use to tell Draco Malfoy that you…you…hell, I don't even know what it is I'm trying to say!

I picked up the quill and scribbled out a possibility on the paper.

Draco, I really care about you…

No. It sounded like I was trying to break up with the sod. Considering that we weren't even dating and that if were breaking things off certainly wouldn't be the objective, I decied to try again.

Draco, I really like you. A lot.

Right then. I think my IQ dropped a few points with that one.

Draco, I have feelings for you.

No. I could already hear him saying, 'Oh, really? And what might those be?' I was fairly certain I was trying to avoid that question to begin with, and scrapped that possibility. I let out a frustrated sigh. How was I supposed to explain to him how I felt when I didn't even know how to say it properly?

"Hello, Ginny."

I turned to see Rosmerta coming through the main door. I smiled to myself.

"Hi." I watched as she flopped onto the sofa. "You look positively spent," I noted, concerned.

She propped herself onto the back of the couch, folding her hands beneath her chin. "Bah, it's nothing. You're one to talk anyway."

"Me? I'm doing alright," I answered, glad to be able to say that truthfully.

"You didn't look so earlier. Are you feeling better?"

"Much. Look, I'm sorry about all of that…I'm just really overwhelmed, and it was sort of getting to me."

"About?"

I sent a meaningful look at the bathroom door, and met her gaze sheepishly.

She smiled, almost unwillingly. "They do tend to complicate things, don't they?"

I snorted. "Unbearably so. I thought I was going to break down or something earlier."

"But you're better?"

"I suppose so. I needed some organization to my thoughts, so I wrote them down. I forgot that's what this thing is for," I said, waving my journal in the air. "Sometimes I write things I hadn't even known I'd thought about. I don't know what it is about it, but it helps."

"The key to your unconscious."

Draco's voice instantly echoed in my head.

"Interested in findind the key to your unconscious, are you?"

"Freud?"

"Mmm. It's a good thing to be able to confront what you're afraid of consciously facing sometimes. It's hard to deal with something when it's not out in the open."

"I know what's going on inside my head now. I realized what I have to do. How do I—" I choked momentarily. "—how do I tell him, Rosmerta?"

"Well we're not talking about brewing Polyjuice here, Gin. Just tell him how you feel."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know myself."

"Describe it."

"I can't even do that. I wouldn't know where to begin. I've never felt this way before."

"Never?"

"Not about anything or anyone I can remember."

"Hmm."

I knew that 'hmm'.

"'Hmm', what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

I could have sworn the smallest of sly smiles graced her features. "I'm sure Draco would be interested to hear that, is all."

And there it was. Part of me wanted to pummel her for being so intuitive, the other to worship her incessantly. I decided on something somewhere in the middle.

"How do you do it?" I asked, somewhat disgusted.

"Do what?" she responded innocently.

"Know everything. Solve everything. I can't see the things you do, and they're usually right in front of my eyes."

She shrugged. "'The sun itself sees not 'til Heaven clears.'"

"Freud?" I guessed hopefully.

She smiled. "Shakespeare."

Right. Whoever that was.

As I continued to berate her for her incredulous abilities, I was quite abruptly aware of something: a silence. The water had been turned off. And then, in rapid succession, my stomach flipped and I flushed involuntarily at just what that meant. Rosmerta appeared to have noticed this as well, and there was a long silent moment, during which we both avoided looking at the bathroom door.

It was then that an interesting fact collided into place. I hadn't seen Draco go in with a change of clothes.

"Rosmerta!" I hissed, suddenly frantic, "he doesn't have anything to wear!"

She looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh, and simply waggled her eyebrows at me. I felt significantly more horrified.

"Well he's not going to come out, is he?!"

"Relax, will you?" she whispered. "Better bloody well not, or his naked bum's going to get a right whomping."

"Rosmerta!"

"Well what do you want me to do, go in there and check? 'Excuse me, Draco, but you're not planning on coming out nude like that, are you?' I think that would kind of defeat the purpose."

"Do something!" I cried, gesturing wildly with my hands.

She groaned. "Fine." Her head promptly disappeared from the top of the sofa, and a moment later she reappeared, standing, and headed towards the bathroom door. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and I cringed. "Oie, Draco! Do you need anything? Change of clothes or some such thing?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

I felt my face utterly drain of color, a stark contrast to the heat willowing up inside of myself. Rosmerta shrugged helplessly.

"Now what?" I whispered, swallowing as I tried to erase the sound of his voice in my head.

"You go downstairs. When he comes out I'll force a change of clothes on him."

"But what if—"

"Ginny, do you really think he has an interest in flashing me?"

Okay, so maybe that was somewhat valid.

"I suppose not," I muttered. "He's not that arrogant."

"Right you are. Now get a move on, will you? How awkward do you think It'd look to have him open the door and see the both of us nearly huddled around it like some sort of freakish fan club?"

I quite nearly jumped out of my chair at those words, gathering my journal and borrowed quill.

"And oh, Gin?"

I paused, looking up at her.

"If he tries anything…"

I sent her a grin at. "I grew up with six brothers. I'll be alright."

She sent me a small smile in return. "I thought as much. Anyway, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Rosmerta. For everything, I mean."

She smiled again, before seeming to remember our current situation and regaining her stern face. "Yeah, yeah. Now get out of here, will you?"

I sent her one last appreciative smile before rushing towards the door, stopping only to pick up the psychology book on my way out.

As my foot touched the first stair, I swore I could have heard the click of a door being opened, though I just as easily could have imagined it.

Granted, the immediate tingling that shot up my spine that followed suggested that a very blond, very tall, very wet, and possibly very close to nude young man had just emerged from the bathroom.

I nearly missed the last stair.

Regaining my composure, I quite nearly began to dash down the wooden halls, feeling very much like I was being chased in a dream as adrenaline began to pump through my veins. The only difference was that I wasn't sure I would mind being captured by my predator.

END CHP 15

Thanks so much for reading, and I'd like to apologize again! I appreciate your patience, and hope to hear what you thought!