Picking Flowers

| III | The Ghost of Draco Malfoy

Ginny was sure that her eyes were the size of saucers. Draco Malfoy was crouching beside her bed, his hand pressed securely against her mouth. Not to mention the fact that his face was inches from hers, eyes narrowed and one side of his mouth curled up in amusement. She blinked once, and then again to make sure she was seeing properly. He moved back enough for her to make out his blond locks, falling carelessly onto his forehead, and his disheveled Hogwarts uniform. It was definitely Draco Malfoy. But how in Merlin's name had he gotten here?

"I'm going to take my hand away now, Ginevra," he told her carefully, snickering slightly as he uttered her name. Ginny knew her cheeks were flushing bright red with both anger and embarassment. "Please don't become a harpy."

She sat upright as soon as he removed his hand. "What the fuck?"

He straightened, cocking one of his fine eyebrows at her and waving a long, slender finger. "What a disgusting potty mouth you have, Weasley. Too late to put my hand back, though."

She ignored him, her shock plainly evident on her face. "How...? Why...?" she sputtered, barely able to find the words to express her astonishment, "But you're a vegetable!"

He frowned, looking down at his body. "I'm definitely not a vegetable, Weasley. I don't know where you got that from."

The dormitory was dark behind him, and quiet. Ginny could see the outline of the door just beyond his tall form. She had not heard it open or close--it remained locked, just as she had left it when she herself came in. She clung desperately to the possibility that this was just an odd dream, and the thought calmed her somewhat. Of course. Stress and her brain just simply did not go well together. In the morning, she would head to Madam Pomfrey and get a month's worth of Dreamless Sleep Potion, and then everything would be fine. She peered back up through her bangs at Malfoy.

"I'm dreaming," she told him firmly, even though he did not seem like a dream at all, "This is definitely a dream, and I do not have to talk to you." She lay back down, nestling her head onto her fluffy pillow and closing her eyes. A dream and nothing more. She felt a depression on one side of the bed, and the mattress squeeked loudly. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head to peer at him. He was now lying right next to her, his arms propped behind his head--the picture of relaxation. "Get off my bed, Malfoy."

"Sure," he said, not moving an inch, "But first you have to acknowledge that this is not a dream. And I am not a vegetable."

She sat up once again, looking down at him irritably. He smirked up at her from her own bed, his blond hair making a halo around his resting head. He looked kind of...She bit her lip, scolding herself for having such thoughts about a dream-created Malfoy. But maybe, since this was all in her own head after all...She reached a hand out tentatively to touch him, and then yelped when one of his hands flew up, Seeker-fast, to pinch her forearm. Something solid, undoubtedly a pillow or an article of clothing, collided with the curtains on one side of her bed. One of her roommates sniffed loudly in annoyance, and Ginny looked at him wide-eyed, rubbing the spot where he had pinched. That wouldn't have happened in a dream, would it?

"But Dumbledore said..." she muttered, still rubbing her arm in surprise and confusion, "Dumbledore said you were comatose. He said it didn't look like you would wake up."

Malfoy seemed to study her for a moment, and Ginny found herself turning away from his gaze. There was something intense and molten about those eyes scrutinizing her face. It made her chest ache uncomfortably. "Said I wouldn't wake up, eh?" he said, swinging his legs off the side of her bed and standing, his back to her. Ginny sat there, looking at him; his lean form, looking as strong and healthy as ever beneath the white button-up shirt he wore. She couldn't imagine the person in front of her laying on a bed his entire life.

"So, if this isn't a dream...how are you here, Malfoy?" she questioned, running a hand through her messy hair. "You...It's not possible for you to be here."

He turned, then, a bitter smile on his face. As though imitating her previous motion, he brushed some of his hair away from his forehead, looking off into the distance before once again focussing on her. "Well, Weasley, it's completely possible for me to be here, if you think about it."

She slapped a hand onto her bed in exasperation. "No, it's not! I've thought about it. It's not possible at all. I have no idea what you're talking about!" She pursed her lips at him, once again completely sure she was dreaming. There was no way any of this could be happening. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, she could make the Malfoy in front of her a little bit more tolerable, since it seemed this dream wasn't about to go away.

He only huffed contemptuously, the same harsh smile twisting his lips. "Weasley," he said, his words almost a snarl, "I'm dead."

"What?" Ginny wasn't sure she'd heard that right.

"I'm dead, you idiot."

Ginny gave a mighty yawn as she hurried on her way, looking from side to side as though expecting someone to run right into her. She hadn't had much of a chance to sleep last night so exhaustion and paranoia had settled on heavy. After Malfoy's sudden revelation, he had taken his leave--but Ginny still hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he--his ghost, apparently--was right there looking at her. She'd lain awake all night, studying the grey ceiling above her and wondering how on earth she could figure out whether or not she was going crazy, or if Malfoy really was dead. The thought of him dead made a small part of her cringe with horror: alive in an everlasting state of slumber was one thing--dead was another.

She hadn't seen him since then. The thought that he was lurking about somewhere in the castle gave her the shivers--even worse, the thought that he might not exist at all and was lurking about in her head, gave her the shivers. Ginny was on the verge of breaking out into physical tremors as she began the last climb up towards the Infirmary. Madam Pomfrey would put an end to this for sure. At least, she hoped so. The circular staircase felt like it was about to close in on her, the old, chipped stone giving her a feeling of inescapable claustrophobia. Merlin, she didn't know whether or not to hope Malfoy was dead or alive, the git!

The arched entrance to the Infirmary loomed near, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she walked into the open space. Ginny could see Madam Pomfrey in her office at one end, and around the bend she could make out rows and rows of neatly made up beds. They were all empty. Her heart gave a frightened patter. Ginny turned away. There had to be an explanation for it, of course. There would be, for sure. She decided that it would be in her best interest to hurry this up. Class would be starting in a few minutes, and it would be ideal if she could make it down to breakfast in time to snag a muffin.

She approached the mediwitch's glass office door. Inside, the woman's workspace was impeccably organized; stacks of folders towered around the compact woman, and sheafs of thick parchment were neatly folded in various places. Madam Pomfrey herself appeared to be occupied with a book, which she had lain out on her desk alongside a cup of tea. Ginny knocked hesitantly, and the woman looked up, her face transforming into a warm smile when she recognized her visitor.

"Miss Weasley!" she greeted warmly, opening the door and ushering her in. Madam Pomfrey resumed her seat before giving the redhead a quick perusal before any further words could be said. "You look perfectly healthy, save for some impressive bags beneath your eyes." The mediwitch quickly took her wand out of her pocket, swiftly conjuring a vial of Pepper-Up Potion. "Drink, dear. Is that all that's brought you here? You'd better be quick. Class will be starting in ten minutes."

Ginny stood awkwardly, holding the Pepper-Up Potion in her hand sheepishly. She did not like the things, but now that Madam Pomfrey had given it to her, she had no choice but to drink it. She could picture in her mind's eye Madam Pomfrey's disappointed frown if she were to refuse. Uncorking it distastfully, Ginny knocked it back swiftly, hoping that some of the taste could be avoided by doing so. There was a brief moment before an intense convulsion wracked her body, and she grimaced as a warm and slightly burning sensation spread throughout her limbs. Once the ordeal was over, though, she felt quite refreshed, and quite prepared to get down to the topic of business she had come to discuss.

"Draco Malfoy," she said firmly, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Madam Pomfrey's face darkened, and an aura of gloom seemed to settle over her. "Dear, what a sad story you've come for. I never did like the Malfoys, mark me, but that boy...He took a turn for the worst last night. It was the Headmaster's decision to send him off to St. Mungo's. There's been no word yet on how he's been, but it can't be good." Madam Pomfrey picked at her white robes, the corners of her mouth turned down sadly. "His mother is just in pieces."

Ginny felt all the energy she had gained from the Pepper-Up Potion drain out of her instantly. A deep kind of lethargy threatened to overpower her as, what she had failed to identify as her worst fear, was realized. There was no doubt in her mind, now, that Malfoy was dead. Madam Pomfrey had told her all she needed to know. Ginny turned to leave.

"Miss Weasley, darling, are you alright?" Madam Pomfrey asked, concerned. She reached out a hand to touch Ginny's arm, but Ginny shrugged it off.

"I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I really should go. Class is going to be starting soon."

"Well if you need anything dear, you know where to find me." Madam Pomfrey sighed deeply. "Take care, Ginny." Ginny managed a small, tight smile. She wanted to reciprocate Madam Pomfrey's obvious affection, but she could not bring herself to shake the horrible feeling of dread in her stomach. Draco Malfoy was dead. His ghost was lounging around Hogwarts castle.

She was in for it for sure.

Ginny spent the entire morning on edge, waiting for Draco Malfoy to pop out of some corner and scare the wits out of her. She hardly paid attention during class; instead, she eyed her surroundings suspiciously, waiting for a flash of pale blonde hair and some undoubtedly impending catastrophe. She waited all through lunch to hear rumours of a fully healthy Draco Malfoy prowling through the Hogwarts halls; listened intently to any conversation she could wrap her ears around--was fully prepared to tell everyone that yes, she had seen it too, and yes, it was definitely true.

Nothing happened.

By fourth period Transfiguration, Ginny was beginning to relax. In fact, when she buckled down to begin the classwork--a quite complex task that consisted of changing a quille into a stuffed bird--she was paying complete attention to her work and only her work. Draco Malfoy--or the lack thereof--had been put completely out of her mind, and she puzzled over and laughed along with her peers as quille after quille went hilariously wrong. By the time it was her turn to step to the front of the class, she was sure she had the spell figured out. McGonagal's mouth had long gone sour from the repeated failures, and there was no doubt that the witch was in a mood that bordered on foul.

The parchment upon which she had done her calculations clutched in her hand, Ginny drew her wand and began. She focussed in on the task at hand--tapping the quille just so, picturing the product in her mind. McGonagal had situated herself across from the designated spell-space, probably so that she could quell any disasters before they really began--but Ginny could see the woman nodding her head in approval, the frown that had wrinkled her ancient eyebrows gradually softening. Then she must be doing it correctly. The class was silent, waiting tensely to see if she could pull through. A smile of satisfaction graced her lips as she reached the halfway mark. Now all she had to do was--

"FUCK!" Ginny yelped, swinging around angrily, her free hand flying to her abused rear. Someone had pinched her--hard--and she thought she knew who. She heard him before she saw him. The sound of Draco Malfoy laughing uproarously. There he was, leaning against the nearby wall, his hands holding his stomach and his eyes near watering with mirth. Her outrage stalled almost immediately. She had never seen him laugh before, and the sight was utterly startling. His hair was falling into his eyes, and his smile...

It took her another moment to realize that the entire class had begun to laugh, as well. Her friend, Colin, had also joined in, though at least he was trying to hide it behind his hand. It was his eyes that really caused her to panic, though. They were wide with something akin to apprehension. As she watched him, he rose his hand to point behind her. Behind her...that's right! McGonagal and the quille were behind her...McGonagal...and the quille...

Ginny spun around quickly and her eyes widened with amazement as she saw what had become of McGonagal and the quille. The woman stood before her, covered from head to toe in soft, downy feathers. Atop her head, where usually a stern bun resided, a magnificent crest of feathers stood erect. A snort of laughter escaped her lips before she could help it. McGonagal's face hardened even further, if that was possible.

"What's so funny, Ms. Weasley?" she questioned, her voice stiff.

"N-nothing Professor," Ginny stammered, trying to hold back her laughter.

"You can laugh all you want in detention this evening, Ms Weasley. Report to me at eight o'clock. I have a chore that you will find very funny indeed."

The class continued to snicker uncontrollably as Ginny took her seat, trying to hold back her own giggles. It was only then she realized that no one else had noticed Malfoy. He was still leaning against the same wall, in perfect view of all the other students. He wore a look that could only be described as despair, although there was something about his face that told her he was still thoroughly amused by the debacle he had just caused. She shifted in her seat, her cheeks reddening with a fury that had been delayed by the hilarity of the situation. He had pinched her--he had pinched her bum, the nerve of him! He had caused her to be a given a detention--her first this year, no less!

Ginny wondered if it would be possible to punch a ghost in the face.

Author's Note: Another chapter up & this one is even longer than usual. Hoped you guys liked it--I sure enjoyed writing it. I think that it is becoming a bit angsty, despite my best efforts. What can I say? I used to be a regular to the angst genre, and it still kind of has its holds on me. And this is a story about death, after all. But hopefully Draco's antics will make up for the fact that he's dead. Thanks to everyone who reviewed--it's great incentive to keep writing and updating so quickly.

MORE reviews would be highly appreciated. So...please and thank you :-)