Ginny swung out the door and down the steps, drawing her cloak over her shoulders as she went, her boots slamming on the frozen mud of the yard. Shadows crossed long rectangles of light the curtained windows of the living room cast across the ground, and she sneered at them as she passed, hugging the fence in the dark. She knew each silhouette, and slow rage burned in her chest as she thought about the Order meeting she was missing, about the dismissive way her mum had told her to go upstairs like a good little girl and be quiet. Like a good little girl, like a child, like she was too young to know what was going on under the roof of her own home! She snarled under her breath and drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, yanking open the gate at the bottom of the yard.

Too young, was she? Too much a child, not allowed to do anything, stuck at home doing nothing while everyone else got to be involved in the war. Fred, George, Charlie, even Bill, who was still healing from his run-in with the werewolves last year, got to go to the meetings and get in on the action. EvenRon got to go off with Harry and Hermione, doing whatever Harry had them doing. Mostly it seemed to involve running around Britain however they chose, and never mind that she'd spent a year in the DA and the end of last year fighting Death Eaters with them, she wasn't allowed to go. Not little Ginny. Little Ginny had to stay home and study the old textbooks Mum dragged out for her, pretend that keeping up with schoolwork while Hogwarts was closed was more important than, oh, saving the wizarding world.

The air was brisk, and there was a hint of snow. Ginny's breath curled around her as she walked, the crunch of her shoes on the frozen earth echoing in the night air. It was almost full winter now, autumn fading fast, the bare tree branches reaching up to scrape the dark sky like the black hands of Dementors. The thought made her shiver, but she didn't try to walk faster. She didn't plan to go far—just across the field and down through the ash grove on the other end to the stream, then back up the road, probably. That'd give her a good long walk, and she wouldn't even end up out of sight of the Burrow. Not that anyone would notice.

She let that thought carry her quickly through the dark. The walk across the Smiths' field did her good; by the time she entered the dark little grove of ash trees she'd worked off a good bit of her anger. This was one of her favourite places anyway, a green haven in spring and summer, and a protected hollow in winter that never got much snow. Ginny slowed her steps, breathing in deeply. Just being here made her feel better, calmer.

At least, until she saw the body.

After a brief, heart-stopping moment, she realized it—he—wasn't dead. At least, she didn't think so. The...person was lying in the frozen grass, on his side with his back to her, shirtless despite the freezing air. Tall and thin, obviously male, with white-blond hair and pale, pale skin, clad in only plain black trousers—from this angle she couldn't see his face, and the rest wasn't enough to identify him with. As she took a cautious step forward, he gave a convulsive little shiver and moaned softly. She could see patches of darkness on his white skin that gleamed wetly in the moonlight, and what looked like scratches or cuts that stood out in livid relief. Ginny swallowed hard, wand at the ready, and moved around him, crouching down so she could look at his face.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Ginny rocked back, shocked. Draco Malfoy. Here in her ash grove, missing his shirt, bruised and scratched. And bloody, she realized. Those wet patches were blood.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

He startled at her voice, and opened his eyes. He jerked at the sight of her, then closed his eyes again and made a tiny sound of pain.

"Are you all right?" Well, that was an inane question. Obviously he wasn't. Ginny cleared her throat and tried again. "Can you move?"

Malfoy opened his eyes again and looked at her, although Ginny wasn't entirely sure he was seeing her. He shifted to one side, biting his lip, and levered himself to his hands and knees, where he paused, head hanging. His arms were trembling with more than just cold, she thought. He finally pushed himself upright, casting a sullen, resentful look at her as he straightened his spine.

She had no idea how she would explain this to her family. But she couldn't leave him here either, shivering with cold, half-naked and bleeding in the cold. Ginny swore under her breath as she yanked off her cloak and approached him, cursing her new-found and unwelcome maternal instincts. Malfoy twitched when the cloak landed on his shoulders, and flinched away as she reached for him, intending to grasp his arm.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she snapped, stung at his reaction.

He started to mumble something and his breath hitched in pain. "Din' think you coul'," he managed finally, his voice a cracked rasp, as though he'd been yelling.

Ginny thinned her lips and helped him up, steadying him as he swayed for a moment on his feet, looking for all the world like he was about to topple over. "Can you walk?" she asked worriedly. Although he was built like Harry, tall but lean, she didn't think she'd be able to carry him back to the house.

In answer he raised his head to glare at her, pulled his arm out of her grasp and took one defiant step forward.

And promptly collapsed to his knees.

Ginny bit back a startled shriek and grabbed at his arm, which made him flinch even harder, hissing in pain and trying--and failing--to pull away. She crouched beside him, swearing in a low, steady stream as she released his arm. He let her help him up again, and suffered her to tuck one hand under his elbow, more gently this time, as he tried walking again.

This time they managed to make some forward progress, in slow, halting fits and starts. Malfoy didn't talk, and Ginny didn't have the breath to question him and hold him up at the same time.It took an age to make it back across the field, to the low rock wall that surrounded the Burrow's yard. Malfoy sagged against the wall with his eyes closed as she wrestled with the gate, cursing when it stuck. He snorted when she got it open and came back to lever him upright.

"What?" she snapped.

"You," he rasped, and made a noise that might have been a chuckle. "No idea you had such a mouth on you."

"Oh, shut up." His voice gave Ginny chills, but she'd rather die than admit it. She covered it by tucking his arm a little closer and pulling him along, steering him through the gate and into the yard.

She glanced up at the house, where warm gold light was shining through the kitchen windows onto the patchy grass. Shadows were moving in that warm light, and Ginny began rehearsing explanations in her mind to placate Mum when she hauled Draco inside.

Then a few familiar figures passed in front of the window: Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody, Professor Lupin, nodding and smiling as they gathered cups and dishes off the kitchen table. Right, the Order was here tonight. And if there was one thing she couldn't do, it was drag Draco Malfoy into the middle of an Order meeting.

"Bloody hell," she muttered. She stared at the house in a moment of blank indecision, one arm automatically going around Malfoy's waist to stop him falling over. She glanced around the yard and her eyes lit on the broom shed at the end of the garden, sitting mostly empty now that the twins had left for London and their joke shop. "All right. Change of plan."Malfoy made a little moaning sound under his breath as she turned him around, his steps slowing even more.

"Oh, come on," she muttered. "It's not far, just to the shed there."

The broom shed was a bit overgrown, and the floor was only packed earth, but it was out of the wind and damp. Ginny guided Malfoy to the bench in the corner and lowered him down onto it; he tilted alarmingly to one side and then slumped forward onto the ground with a small thud.

"Shit," Ginny said, and knelt beside him. He was still breathing, but it seemed shallow to her limited knowledge, and he looked even paler than normal in the faint light coming through the small window. Indecision hit her again, and she waved her hands a bit frantically in the air while she thought. "All right, then," she said finally, and moved him into a position that looked a little more comfortable, on his back with her cloak tucked firmly across his narrow chest. She muttered a warming charm over him, thankful that the ban on underage wizardry had been lifted when Hogwarts closed, and left the shed, shutting the door behind her.

After a moment, she tapped the handle with her wand and locked it, too.

Then she went back up to the house, dashed through the kitchen--which was mercifully empty, though she could hear raised voices in the drawing room-and up the several flights of stairs to her room. "Clothes," she muttered, staring around at her bed and chest of drawers. "And a blanket, probably. And...and...bloody hell."

She didn't know what she'd need. Food, maybe, water to wash the blood off, bandages...Ginny sat down hard on the edge of her bed, overwhelmed. Draco Malfoy was lying in their broom shed right this moment, in obvious pain, injured badly enough that he couldn't walk. She had no idea what the hell she was going to do.

"Okay," she said to herself, only half-concerned that talking to oneself was surely the first sign of madness. "Okay. Clothing first, and blankets. I can get food from the kitchen, and water, and if Mum asks, I'm just getting a snack. And there's bandages in the bath, under the sink."

Ginny shoved herself to her feet and opened her door cautiously. She could hear the murmur of voices downstairs, and the further mutter of Ron, Harry and Hermione, probably standing in the hall outside the living room. The meeting would be splitting upsoon, undoubtedly, but she was fine as long as she moved fast.

There was a good stock of bandages and healing potion under the sink in the main bath, and Ginny pondered for a moment before grabbing a couple of towels, too. One she used as a makeshift bag for the supplies, and the other she draped over one shoulder. The blankets were in the linen closet beside Percy's old room, and after a moment's thought, Ginny set her growing stash down and darted in to grab an old shirt and sweater out of Percy's chest of drawers. He was in London, anyway. He wouldn't miss them.

Hermione was standing beside her small pile of supplies when she came back out.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Ginny opened her mouth, and then closed it again. What was she doing? There was no way to pretend she wasn't in the middle of something she wasn't supposed to be involved in.

"It'd take too long to explain. Carry this," she said, and shoved the sweater and shirt at Hermione. "And be quiet on the stairs, the last thing we need is Mum coming out to see what we're up to."

Hermione blinked down at the pile in her arms. "Er, Ginny...?"

"I'll tell you in a moment. Right now I need your help." She scooped her pile off the floor and started making her way downstairs. Thankfully the kitchen was deserted, and there was a sealed carafe of water already in the icebox. Ginny grabbed it, and decided food could wait for later, when Hermione wasn't staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

Ginny pushed the door open with her back and held it with one foot while Hermione exited. Her lips were pressed tight against the questions she must be bursting with. She followed Ginny to the broom shed without asking any, though, and took the blankets off Ginny's hands while Ginny fumbled for her wand, first to unlock the door, then to cast a quick Lumos on the shed's interior.

Malfoy was still out cold on the broom shed's floor. He hadn't moved at all, and the rise and fall of his chest under the dark fabric of Ginny's cloak was barely noticeable. She moved forward and pressed her hand to his neck to check on his pulse; Mum was always doing that when the twins or Ron got themselves into scrapes or weren't feeling well. It fluttered, quick and faint under her fingers.

Hermione gasped and dropped the blankets.

"That's Draco Malfoy!"

And then she gasped again, this time in horror, as Ginny pulled back her cloak to expose Malfoy's bare chest. Ginny was hard-pressed not to do the same; in the dim light earlier she hadn't realized how bad off he really was. His torso was marked with livid weals and bruises, and blood was still oozing from a dozen cuts and scrapes and seeping into her cloak from somewhere on his back.

And it was her good cloak, too.

"How are your healing spells?" she asked, glancing over at Hermione. "Because mine are only good for things like paper cuts."

Hermione jerked, and knelt on the floor beside Ginny, reaching out one hand to hover over Malfoy's body. "I--I--I can try, anyway. But Ginny, we should bring him inside! He can't stay out here, we can't..."

"We sure as hell can't bring him into a house full of Order members," Ginny said sharply. "Tonks is here. Or have you forgotten what happened in that last big attack? Not to mention Mad Eye's here, and you know what he's like. We'll do what we can, and when they're gone we'll tell Mum and Dad. In the meantime...I think he's pretty bad off. We should at least try to do something."

Hermione shot her an anguished look, but drew her wand out of her pocket and began whispering words of healing over the worst of the cuts. Ginny busied herself by muttering a warming spell over the carafe of water and tearing one of the towels into scraps, which she used to clean the worst of the blood and dirt off Malfoy's chest.

His skin was the colour of milk in the low spell-light, unmarred by freckles. Ginny took a moment to marvel at that; when she thought of all the times she'd wished her freckles would vanish.... It probably all came down to genetics; she was doomed to be spotted, like a leopard.

Hermione healed all the cuts on his chest, and together they shifted him enough to roll him onto his stomach. He moaned but didn't open his eyes as Ginny peeled away the fabric of her cloak. There was a huge gash across his back, starting at the sharp line of his spine low on his back and curling up across his ribs toward his armpit. It was still bleeding sluggishly, the edges angry and red. His trousers were damp with blood; Ginny wondered for a moment how she'd failed to notice it before.
Hermione whimpered beside her, hands pressed to her mouth. Several tears leaked from her eyes and dripped down her nose.

"Close it," Ginny said. The sound of her own voice startled her, if only because she sounded so completely normal. Hermione didn't move, and Ginny reached over and poked her hard in the arm. "Come on, Hermione. I can't do healing spells."Hermione sobbed, but took her hands from her mouth and pointed her wand at the ugly wound. "Episkey," she whispered. The ends of the gash pulled together, but she had to cast the spell two more times before it closed completely. It was red and uneven and ugly, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore.

Ginny nodded in satisfaction and carefully rubbed off the dirt and grime she could manage, then made Hermione help her stuff Malfoy into Percy's old sweater. He was still cold and pale, and he hadn't opened his eyes once through the whole process, but he seemed a little healthier after they were done.

There was a long pause as they both stared down at his pale form. "Well, we'd best get back in," Ginny said.

Hermione nodded, pale herself. "You're going to tell your mother?"

"I'll have to. Can't leave him here all night."

"Better you than me," Hermione said. "I'm going inside."

Ginny caught her arm before she could reach the door. "Don't tell Ron. Or Harry. They...don't need to know yet."

Hermione's eyes searched her face for a long moment before she nodded slowly, disentangled her arm, and slipped out the door. Ginny followed more slowly, kneeling to check one more time that Malfoy was still breathing, that he seemed comfortable, that he wasn't going to suddenly die in the next few minutes. She might loathe the git, but that didn't mean she wanted him to kick off in her broom shed. Conscience satisfied, Ginny followed Hermione back to the house, carefully locking the shed before she went.

~*~

It was nearly an hour later that the Order left and Ginny could corner her mother in the kitchen, washing cups and dishes by hand and setting damp rags to whisk around all the flat surfaces by magic.

"Mummy," Ginny mumbled, "I have to tell you something."

"What is it, dear?" Mum said, without looking up from the sink.

"I've sort of....found something. Er." Ginny took a deep breath. "It might be easier if I showed you."

Mum turned in surprise, wiping her hands on her apron. "Showed me what?"Ginny bit her lip and went to get cloaks from the hall closet. Mum didn't say anything as she led her out into the yard and to the shed. A quick "Alohamora" unlocked the door, and Ginny pushed it open.

She could hear her mother gasp behind her as the light from her wand spilled over the body lying on the floor of the shed, white skin and blond hair glinting in the light. Ginny turned, biting her lip.

"I found him in the wood just on the other side of the Smith field," she said. "He's hurt...he was bleeding pretty badly. Hermione came out and did healing charms on him, but I didn't want to—that is, all those people were here, and I didn't think I ought to bring him inside then. But we can't leave him out here. Um." She trailed off uncertainly and looked down at Malfoy's pale, still form.

Mum had gone terribly pale herself, staring down at the new inhabitant of her broom shed. She knelt quickly and felt his pulse, as Ginny had earlier. She laid one hand on his forehead too, the way she did when any of them was ill, then pulled back the cloak, her face tightening as she saw the faint red network of healed cuts across his torso.

"Ginny," she said slowly, "go get your father."

Ginny went.

She came back with her dad in tow, bewildered but amiable. Mum looked up as they entered the shed—she had settled on the ground beside Malfoy's limp form, one hand resting on his pale hair. Dad swore under his breath at the sight.

"What the devil is this?"

"I found him," Ginny said quietly. "Down by the stream, across the field. He was hurt, and I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't leave him."

Dad glanced at her, with a pinched, angry look that probably meant she was in for it for leaving the house without permission. But he didn't say anything, just moved over to where Mum was and kneeling too. "What's happened to him?"

Mum shook her head, twitching the cloak aside to show Dad the fine tracery of marks on Malfoy's chest. He recoiled, one hand flying to his mouth. "My God."

"We have to move him inside," Mum said. "We can't leave him out here."

"Molly—" Dad began, then sighed heavily. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Put him in Percy's room for now. We can worry about the rest in the morning," Mum said. "If he makes it through the night. If they haven't done anything else to him."

Dad bent, mouth set in a grim line, and lifted Malfoy up carefully, one arm beneath his knees, the other around his back. Malfoy looked awkward and too thin, hanging limp in Dad's arms. Ginny rushed to open the door for him, and followed along as they walked through the dark yard to the house. Dad carried Malfoy through the kitchen and up the stairs; Ron, Harry and Hermione were standing in the hallway, staring, as he went past and into Percy's room. Hermione looked composed, but Ron and Harry were open-mouthed with shock.

Mum followed Dad in and pushed the door shut in Ginny's face. Before she could work up a proper indignation, though, Ron caught her by the arm and propelled her up a few more stairs toward her own room. It was really too small to fit all four of them, but they shoved in anyway, Ron impatiently pushing her forward until Ginny tore her arm away from him with a jerk and a glare.

"What the devil's going on?" Ron demanded. "What is Malfoy doing here?"

"I found him."

"Found him? Found him where?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and repeated her story for the third time. "He was injured, so I brought him back here, but the house was full of people and I didn't want Tonks to see him, so I put him in the shed. Hermione came out and did healing spells for me, and then when everyone'd gone I told Mum."

Ron gaped at her for a moment, speechless. "You brought him here? Have you completely lost your head?"

"What is that supposed to mean? What else could I have done? He could barely walk. I couldn't just leave him!"

"I reckon you could!"

She scowled at him. "Oh yeah, just leave him to die in the snow. You might be a cold-hearted prat, Ron, but I'm not."
"I'm not cold-hearted! It's just—he's a Death Eater!"

"Which would make it all right?"

"He'd do it to any one of us!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "So it'd be fine if we lowered ourselves to his level? Don't be an idiot."

Ron glared at her, but apparently failed to find anything to say in the face of Ginny's disapproval. Or rather, Hermione's disapproval; she was looking at him like he was some unexpected, hideously ugly bug. He turned to Harry, mute appeal in his eyes, but Harry only shrugged. Ginny wasn't sure if he didn't want to face Hermione either, or if he really would have helped Malfoy too. Harry looked at her and smiled, and Ginny couldn't help the way her stomach flipped. She smiled back almost helplessly.

"Well, I think you did the right thing, Ginny," Hermione said. "And you're right. We shouldn't turn into people who act like Death Eaters just because they'd do it to us."

Ron frowned, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well, I still don't like it. Bloody prat might bring all sorts of things down on our heads. How d'you know he isn't being tracked? He's got the Dark Mark...You-Know-Who could be waiting on our doorstep in an hour, just because he's here."

"Then your dad will think of something," Hermione said. "The house is Unplottable now anyway. Chances are even Voldemort couldn't find it, Dark Mark or no. Anyway, I don't expect they'll keep Malfoy here very long regardless...they'll want to question him, I imagine, and there's better places than here to do that. I expect your parents will talk to the rest of the Order tomorrow, and he'll be out of here before dinner."

"And so will we," Harry said. "So it hardly matters."

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked. She hadn't known they were leaving tomorrow. All three of them looked at her guiltily. Harry coughed, spots of colour appearing on his cheekbones, and suddenly the flip in her stomach was nauseous fury. She knew what they'd say, even before Ron opened his mouth to tell her, "It's nothing to do with you."

"Right," she said tightly. "Then I guess you all can make yourselves scarce. Since there's nothing here that's important."

The worst of it was, none of them even protested. They just exchanged looks, like they could communicate by telepathy, and turned as one toward the door. Ginny bit her lip against a frustrated scream, against the urge to throw something after them, to pull out her wand and curse them all.

None of them looked back.

~*~

Ginny woke in the night to the most horrible sound she'd ever heard.

Someone was screaming, harsh, hoarse, panicked sounds ripped from a throat already raw. She was up, out of bed and in the hall before she'd even quite woke up, just in time to see Mum wrench open the door to Percy's room and fly inside. Ginny raced down the stairs and caught herself against the door frame, her heart pounding.

The screaming had stopped, and she could see Malfoy's pale face over Mum's shoulder, his eyes wide and dilated. Mum reached out to touch him, and he jerked away with such violence he hit the wall with an audible thud. "Don't touch me," he whispered harshly, sides heaving with the force of his panicked breath. "Go away!"

"Now, dear, just calm down," Mum said.

"Leave me alone!"

By the light of the bedside lamp, Ginny could see tear tracks streaking Malfoy's face and two spots of colour high on his cheeks. Mum backed away from the bed a step, her hand still outstretched. Ginny knew what she was thinking; Mum's solution to all nightmares was a cuddle and a kiss on the head, and Malfoy didn't look inclined to submit.

"Now, dear—" she began again, but Malfoy shook his head, one pale hand stretched out to hold her off, the other coming up to scrub at his cheeks.

"I said, go away!" His gaze shifted to the door, and he met Ginny's eyes. "All of you!"

Mum spun around and saw the crowd that had gathered behind Ginny. "Come, now, everyone go back to bed!" She started forward, temporarily abandoning Malfoy to chivvy everyone away from the door. "Go on, go on. Out!"

Dad stepped aside as Ron, Hermione and Harry filed past him, back up the stairs to Ron's room under the attic, and he waited with a stern look on his face until Ginny went too. She paused up the stairs to see Dad go inside and shut the door. A glance up the stairs showed the others actually had gone back to Ron's room, so Ginny tiptoed back to stand outside the door. The voices on the other side were a bare murmur but she could catch the odd word. "You-Know-Who," and "my father," and "attacks", and Mum's shocked gasp as Malfoy muttered something in his wrecked voice that Ginny couldn't hear.

~*~

The house was quiet when Ginny stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning. Mum was bustling around, flinging plates and cups around with her wand, running a cloth over the counters by hand, her knitting clacking over the basket in the corner. She looked frazzled and tired. "Don't stray from the house today," she said as Ginny sat down. "Your father's gone to get Remus Lupin, to talk about the boy, and chances are we'll be gone all afternoon. I want you to look over the coursework for Transfigurations today, love, I think you're behind."

Ginny's schoolbooks appeared at her elbow, followed by a cup of apple juice and two slices of dry toast. "Right," she sighed, but Mum was already on her way out of the kitchen. Ginny munched on her toast unenthusiastically. From the silence, it was fairly obvious that only she and Mum were home. Well, she and Mum and Draco Malfoy. The door to Percy's room had been closed when she'd come downstairs, so she had no idea if he was awake or not. Ginny contemplated her Transfigurations books and wondered what the Order was going to do about him.

When Mum reappeared, she had on a different dress and her hair was done up - obviously she was going out. "I'll be back soon," she said, confirming Ginny's suspicion. "Don't go anywhere, and be good! I've checked in on Draco and he's asleep, so don't go bothering him or waking him up. We'll be back before lunch." She helped herself to a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the grate. "Diagon Alley!" she called, and vanished.

Ginny sighed and pulled the books closer. Another morning of being bored to look forward to.

~*~

It was an hour after lunch before Mum arrived, Dad and Remus Lupin in tow. They vanished into the front room for several minutes, and then Lupin and Dad went back upstairs while Mum detoured into the kitchen and began preparing the meal. Ginny helped in silence; pestering Mum with questions wouldn't get her anywhere, and if she were quiet enough maybe they'd forget about her and let something slip. Merlin knew she wouldn't find anything else out any other way, around here.

When Dad and Lupin came back downstairs, they both looked grim.

"I don't like the idea," Lupin was saying, "but I don't see what else we can do for him without putting others at risk. At least the Burrow is Unplottable. You-Know-Who will have a hard time finding him here, even if he's looking. With any luck, they'll think he's dead already, just as they intended, and it isn't as if Malfoy is going to say anything to anyone, after all, not with what his father--"

"Hsst!" Mum made a sharp, cutting gesture at Lupin, rolling her eyes meaningfully in Ginny's direction. He fell silent with an apologetic cough.

Ginny huffed quietly. Never ignored when she wanted to be. "D'you want me to leave?"

"Don't be insolent," Dad said. "We'll discuss it later," he said to Lupin. "You're welcome to stay for lunch, of course."
"Thank you," Lupin said, as if he'd actually turn down a meal. Ginny pressed her lips together and went to set another bowl on the table.

They ate without discussing a single thing related to Malfoy or the war, or what Ron, Harry and Hermione were up to, or the Order, or anything important. Ginny didn't take part in the small-talk, but stirred her soup with her chin propped on her hand. After the meal Dad walked Lupin out to the front room, where they talked very quietly so Ginny couldn't overhear. She tried, until Mum pushed a tray into her hands and said, "Here, dear, take this up to Draco, and make sure he eats all the soup. That boy is entirely too thin."

Ginny gritted her teeth. Of course she was the one playing nursemaid, while everyone else did useful things. But she went, balancing the tray carefully on one hand when she got to Percy's door so she could open it. Malfoy was asleep by all appearances, curled up on his side, a shaft of sunlight from the window falling across his shoulders. The nightstand had been cleared off, so Ginny slid the tray onto it and shook Malfoy's arm. "Wake up."

He did almost instantly, jerking backward as his eyes flew open. For a moment he just stared at her, confused. Then it seemed to dawn on him who she was, and where he was, and he relaxed minutely. He swallowed hard and tried to speak, wincing when he failed.

"What?" he managed finally.

"I brought food," she said, gesturing at the tray.

"Not hungry," he said immediately. He shoved himself upright and slid sideways on the bed so that his back was against the wall, watching her warily. She wasn't sure what he expected her to do—grow an extra head, maybe, or start breathing fire.

"Too bad for you, because you've got to eat anyway. Mum said so." She waited, and he waited, trying to stare her down. Ginny settled into it, hands in her pockets. A million fights with any of her brothers who happened to be home had honed her skills in battles of will. Malfoy looked away first. She grinned, not bothering to hide it, and gestured toward the tray. "I hope you're well enough to feed yourself, because I won't do it for you."

His eyebrows snapped together, but he shifted closer to the side table all the same, lifting the spoon and prodding at the soup in the bowl with distaste. "What is this?"

"Soup."

Malfoy glared at her. "What kind?"

"Chicken noodle. Just eat it." Ginny turned her back on him, went and pulled Percy's desk chair toward the other end of the bed. She settled herself in it and propped her feet up on the mattress. She ought to have brought a book. After a moment of glowering, Malfoy began to eat.

He managed about half the bowl before pushing it away. There were slices of thick buttered bread on the tray too, but he didn't touch them, nor the mug of tea.

Ginny looked the tray over and sighed. "You're supposed to eat it all."

"'M not hungry." In fact, he looked rather green about the gills now, like the soup hadn't agreed with him.

"Mum's going to kill me if you don't." But on the other hand, she didn't want to tell Mum she'd made Malfoy throw up, either. Not to mention she didn't feel like cleaning up after him if he did.She took one of the slices of bread and bit into it. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her. "Someone's got to. She'll only come up and try to make you eat it herself if I bring it back downstairs."

Malfoy made an indecipherable noise and leaned back, closing his eyes. The greenish tinge had faded into snow-white paleness, with dark hollows under his eyes. Ginny examined him as she chewed. He looked much improved from when she'd seen him last, which wasn't really saying much. She swallowed her mouthful and said, "So what happened, anyway?"

"What?" Malfoy's eyes fluttered open. They were a pale ice-grey, not quite blue, which was what made them so unexpected. Ginny gestured at him with her piece of bread.

"To you. How'd you end up here?"

"You mean you don't already know?"

Ginny snorted. "You think they tell me anything? They all hush right up when they think I can hear. I don't know a bloody thing except that I found you in the back field half-dead, when I know you live in Wiltshire."

"I thought you were all in on this," Malfoy sneered. The effect was somewhat ruined by his lack of volume, and the way it sounded like he was dragging each word out of his throat as if it caused him pain. "Your whole family's neck deep."

"Everyone but me," Ginny agreed. "But I'm too young to know what's going on. And every time I try to help, Mum goes into fits about how her poor baby girl isn't' ready to do anything dangerous. As if Ron weren't only a year older than I am. She doesn't say a word to him about running off with Harry all the time. And Hermione gets to go do things, and she's a girl too." She bit off a piece of bread savagely, and was startled to hear Malfoy make a soft, rasping sound. She glanced up, and realized he'd laughed.

"Oh, you're a delicate flower, obviously," he whispered. She smirked at him, remembering the time in her fourth year when she'd hexed him. The edge of his mouth turned up; he was probably remembering the same thing.

Ginny finished the first piece of bread and leaned forward to grab the second. "So? What happened?"

Malfoy hesitated, dropping his eyes to the bedspread. Then he lifted his head and met her gaze defiantly. "My father tried to kill me," he said roughly.

Ginny stared at him, mouth half-full of bread. "What?"

"You heard me." His shoulders slumped and he leaned back, his eyes shutting again. "He...made a mistake, and to escape punishment, he made a bargain with the Dark Lord. My life for his." He laughed harshly. "It almost worked, too. They put me in the dungeon when they were done. They didn't know I used to play there, that I knew all the ways out."

She swallowed her mouthful and looked down at the slice in her hand; suddenly she wasn't very hungry. "That's—"
"Awful?" Malfoy interrupted. "Barbaric? Evil? Horrible? Thank you, your parents have already been down the list."

"I was going to say typical," Ginny said. Malfoy's head jerked up and he stared at her with a mixture of shock and anger. "Sorry," she said insincerely. Maybe he didn't remember what his father had done to her in her first year at Hogwarts, but she did.

Malfoy didn't reply, but made a show of drawing up the sheets and turning his head away on the pillow. Ginny felt guilty for a moment; it wasn't a very polite thing to say, and he had been badly injured, and by his own dad, no less. She got up to pick up the tray from the table, and Malfoy's hand darted out to clamp around her wrist, turning so he could meet her eyes. "You should have left me out there," he whispered. "I would have been better off."

"Don't be an idiot," she replied, and yanked her arm away.

~*~

After thinking about it, Ginny decided it was probably best not to let on that she knew how Malfoy had come by his wounds$#151;Mum would undoubtedly pitch a fit if she knew Ginny had asked, and what Mum didn't know wouldn't hurt Ginny. Though from the look of things, Mum wasn't exactly talking to Malfoy any more than she talked to Ginny. He spent the first week resting in Percy's room, and except for the odd visit to drop off food, Ginny wasn't permitted to talk to him. She waited until she couldn’t stand it anymore to corner her mother and try to find out what the devil was going on.

"So, is Malfoy staying here for good?" she asked. She'd chosen her time carefully, waiting until Mum was waist deep in ironing, with no sign of Dad or brothers anywhere. Ginny leaned over the basket and began sorting socks for folding.

"Not for good, dear, just for the time being."

"And how long's that?"

"Oh, not long at all, really," Mum said vaguely.

"Mum! Don't I have a right to at least know how long he'll be here?"

"Ginny," Mum said, in the tone that meant she was getting annoyed. "If you needed to know, we would tell you."

"Why can't I know?" Ginny demanded. "I found him! I ought to be told!" That came out sounding more proprietary than she wanted it to, considering this was Malfoy, but really.

Mum rounded on her. "That's enough, young lady. Draco will be here as long as he's here, and that's all you need to know about it. Your dad is looking for somewhere to send him, somewhere out of country. He's in danger, poor boy, and as long as he's here, so are we, and the less you know the better!"

Ginny was taken aback by the strength of her mum's reaction. "I just wanted—"

"I know what you wanted, Ginny. I know you feel like you're being kept in the dark, but it's bad enough all the rest of my babies are involved in this war, you'll understand why I want to keep you out." For a moment it looked like Mum might cry, clutching the shirt she was holding in tense hands. "It's for your own good."

And Mum's downcast face took some of the sting out of that oft-repeated refrain. Ginny closed her mouth on her next protest and went back to folding socks.

~*~

When Draco was finally well enough to leave Percy's room, Mum set him up on the couch in the front room with books and admonished Ginny to leave him alone, which lasted all of two minutes. She was bored after all, and their house wasn't that big. She couldn't avoid him forever. They would sprawl across the furniture in silence for hours, companions in boredom.

Draco, as it turned out, was good at Transfiguration. He showed Ginny how to change teacups into mice and back again, how to make things disappear, a number of things that Draco apparently remembered by heart, that weren't in her Mum's battered old copy of Advanced Transfiguration. He knew quite a bit about Arithmancy as well, and he was good at Potions theory. Ginny took shameless advantage of it, enlisting him as a tutor in all the subjects Mum gave her. It was a way to pass the time, at any rate, since neither of them were permitted to leave the house.

He whispered a lot, which seemed easier on his throat than trying to speak. It was disconcerting, particularly when one wasn't expecting it; he had a tendency to walk very quietly, which meant he was always sneaking up on people whether he meant to or not.

"We need to get you a bell," Ginny told him, after he'd startled her nearly out of her skin for the sixth time, coming into the kitchen soundlessly and nearly making her drop her juice. She leaned back against the kitchen counter and smiled. "You're worse than Hermione's cat."

"I didn't realize I was a pet, Weasley," he drawled. "Maybe you just need your ears checked."

"Didn't you know? Stray Death Eaters are all the rage now. Everyone's got one." She'd learned through trial and error what she could and couldn’t tease him about—he'd snarl at her for calling him a Death Eater, but his heart was never in it.

Today he just made a face at her and reached over her shoulder for a glass. "Give that here," he said, reaching for the pitcher, and poured himself a glass, coming to settle beside her against the counter, their shoulders barely touching.Ginny tried to hide the small flutter in her stomach at the way his warmth seeped into her arm. It was bad form to develop a crush on the boy you'd saved from death who was being chased by murderers, she was fairly sure.

"So what fascinating subject are you studying today?" he asked. "More transfiguration? Arithmancy? DADA? Maybe your mother would let us make explosive potions on the stovetop."

Ginny giggled at that; they were expressly forbidden to make any sort of potions without supervision, after the one time they'd tried it. "She wanted me to read up on dragons and their magical properties."

"Oh, fun," Draco said. His shoulder brushed hers, and Ginny fought down a flush.

They spent the afternoon in the front room, on opposite sides of the couch. Once or twice Ginny thought she caught Draco watching her, but when she tried to catch his eye, he always looked away. She wasn't sure what she wanted to happen, or even if she wanted anything at all. She'd thought, at the end of last year, that she'd wait for Harry, but she hadn't seen him in weeks, since the night she'd found Draco, and now she didn't know what she wanted anymore.

It was almost a relief when Dad and Mum arrived home and they both came in to stand beside the couch and look seriously down at Draco. "I've got some news for you," he said, and Draco sat up so fast he knocked a cushion onto the floor. Ginny almost held her breath, trying to stay unnoticed. "I've been talking to some people, and I think we might be able to send you on," Dad continued. "There's a place in Paris that's opened up, that might suit you, and it would get you out of range of You-Know-Who."

Draco didn't move for long moments; then he nodded slowly. "All right," he whispered. "When would I leave?"

"As soon as possible," Dad replied. Draco nodded, not looking at anyone.

Mum stood up. "I'll put some things together for you, dear," she said, her voice a trifle high, and bustled into the kitchen."I'll go pack, then," Draco said, and stood abruptly. Ginny followed him out, before Dad could say anything or call her back, and followed him up the stairs. She stopped and leaned against the door frame, looking in at Draco's narrow back as he moved about, tossing the hand-me-down clothes Mum had altered for him onto the bed.

"So I guess you're going, then," she said softly. She didn't feel nauseous, like she used to around Harry. She just felt hollow, watching Draco's thin hands move over the scant possessions he'd laid out. He barely glanced at her as he nodded.

Ginny was moving before she knew it, pulling his arm to make him turn, pulling his head to hers. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue along hers, he tasted of the sweet cider they'd had at lunch.

Ginny drew away first and backed up a step, curling her hands into fists. "Be careful," she said. "Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Draco replied. "And—you too."

Ginny nodded, and turned toward the door so she wouldn't have to hear him say goodbye.

~*~

Three years later

Ginny knelt in the grass beside the porch stairs, a bucket of tulip bulbs at her side and a rake and trowel on the grass beside her. She'd come to the burrow from her flat in the city, to help Mum with her gardening. Since the war her parents had found keeping up the house more difficult, with the way Dad's health had deteriorated. Ginny had gone into curse-breaking, despite Mum's protests, but as much as she loved her job and her place in London, the Burrow was home.

Mum was in town today with Hermione, shopping. They said it was for linens, but Ginny had the suspicion there might be wedding planning involved. Ron hadn't quite asked Hermione yet, but everyone knew it was a matter of time. There was a rash of weddings; the end of the war with Voldemort put everyone in the mood for celebrations, and it made a nice change from funerals.

Harry had taken off after the war to see the world, or so he said. He'd asked her to go with him, but seemed unsurprised when she turned him down. They'd never talked about it, even in passing, but they both knew that it wasn't meant to be between them. Too much time apart, too much resentment, too many secrets between them to ever get over.

Ginny dumped the hand rake and trowel in the bucket at her side and sat back on her heels, surveying the neat row of plants along the edge of the steps with satisfaction. They'd be a riot of colour in a few weeks, and pretty, if entirely useless. Ginny smiled and dusted her hands on her jeans as she stood. She turned, bucket in hand, to return it to the broom shed and stopped as she saw the man standing in the yard.

He'd gained weight, in his years away, a far cry from when she'd seen him the first time, skeletal thin and pale with pain. Everything about him seemed brighter, from his hair to his ice-grey eyes to the robes he wore.

"Ginny," he said softly, and the ragged edge of his voice hadn't changed. He let drop the hand he'd raised, and Ginny realized with a start that she was standing there in filthy jeans and hands covered in mud, her hair a mess, staring at him like an idiot. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. "I shouldn't have just come like this. I'll go--"

"No," she said, finding her voice. "Don't. I just...I wasn't expecting..." You, she meant to say, but the word died in her throat. She took a step toward him, and another, and then she was in his arms with no clear notion of how it had happened, kissing him with everything that was in her.

Draco set her down finally, his hands cupping her face. "I didn't know what to expect," he whispered. "I half expected to come here and find you'd married Potter or something. I never promised you anything, didn't even know if you'd want such a thing. I just hoped." He pulled back suddenly and looked up at the Burrow. "You aren't, are you? Married to Potter?"

Ginny let out a laugh. "Of course not."

"Good," he said fiercely. "Good."

She laughed again, feeling free, suddenly, joy bubbling up and spilling over. "Welcome home," she said, and kissed him again. "I'm so glad you've come home."