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Ginny woke the next morning from a deep sleep, briefly realizing that she felt more rested than she had in weeks. The moment was broken only seconds later, when she came to the shocking realization that she was, for the second time in only a few days, not waking up in her own bed.
As she came more awake, she took a deep breath, forced down a moment of panic, and took quick inventory of her surroundings. The bed was soft, warm and comfortable. The bedding was luxurious and deep emerald green, and there was an arm lazily draped across her waist. Fearful of moving, she used only her eyes to follow the arm up to a bare torso, and saw the tossled blond hair of her companion near her shoulder.
She was grateful for one thing, and that was that she did have a memory of the sequence of events that had gotten her into this particular situation. Taking another breath, she decided to gather all the facts she could pull from her sleep-fogged brain before taking further action. The last thing she wanted was to act rashly and make the situation even worse.
First and foremost in her mind came the most unbelievable fact of the previous day.
He'd said he loved her. HIM. The most dispicable, horrible, antagonistic prat in the universe. He who she had sworn to hate for all eternity, had gone to rescue her, risking his own life and sanity at the hands of scheming Claire and her friends, because he loved her. And then the both of them walked out of the room, together. If they both weren't completely exhausted, and in no small amount of pain from the traumas they'd just endured, she thought their exit from the Dark Arts classroom could almost be classified as almost a happy moment.
But to think, after all her months, no, years of despising him, that he would say that he had fallen in love with her.
After having had time to rest and recover, she tried to logically understand why he would say something like that, and could come up with only one logical conclusion, and that was that he'd likely suffered some degree of madness from enduring so many instances of the cruciatus curse.
As for herself, and her current, rather embarrassing predicament, she concluded that the physical and emotional shock from her own injuries had left her a temporarily soft in the head. Or else she was still quite soundly asleep and this was all a very bizarre dream. She really, really could not fathom that she was waking up, quite comfortably in Draco Malfoy's bed.
Not sure she was fully awake, and not yet prepared to move and risk waking the boy sleeping soundly next to her, she decided to review last nights events and see if there could be any explanation other than temporary insanity.
-----
12 hours ago
------
Both injured and exhausted, they helped each other stumble off the school grounds. Their captors had seen lights outside heading in the direction of the school, as they weakly limped down the path toward Hogsmeade, they found that the source of the light had been none other than Vincent Crabbe.
"I thought I stunned you," Draco greeted his friend.
"Yeah, well, Goyle and I were stuck out there for almost an hour."
"You shouldn't have tried to follow me," Draco grumbled back, still leaning heavily on Ginny for support.
"Looks like we should have," he replied, taking in the bruised and bloodied appearance of each of them. "What the hell happened?"
"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Draco replied. "It's been taken care of, for now."
Crabbe looked concerned, glancing over at Ginny to see if she would yield any further information, but she remained silent. He seemed to at least be satisfied that no murders had been committed, and grunted dismissively. "Well, then, best get you back," he stated casually, as if nothing had happened of any consequence.
She was grateful for the help. She was physically spent, and Draco seemed to be no better off. As Crabbe moved to put his arm around her waist, she felt no urge to resist. Draco, while also barely standing, seemed reluctant to show weakness and walked slowly on his own beside her.
Getting to the main road, Crabbe summoned a carriage for hire, and instructed the driver to take them to Malfoy's home. She was grateful that darkness had fallen, allowing them to minimize anyone noticing their rather odd state. Under disguise of dark, their slow, weak movements could easily have been mistaken for a bit of overindulgance in spirits from one of the usual nightspots.
"Where's Goyle?" Draco inquired, after they entered the privacy of the carriage.
"He went to the 3 Broomsticks with Weasely's little Mudblood friend. I think he fancies her." Crabbe winked almost cheerfully.
Ginny bristled at the derogatory remark, but held her tongue.
"She was here?" Ginny asked.
"Apparently she came looking for you, worried sick when you didn't show up for work. She thought maybe Malfoy might have had something to do with it." He smiled sheepishly at Ginny, "She was the one who unfroze us. Anyway," he said, turning back to Draco, "you mentioned going to the school, so I was going to head up there. Goyle was going to bring her back then meet me there."
He looked more closely at Ginny's bedraggled appearance, and turned to Malfoy "Do I get to ask what happened?"
"No."
Undeterred, he continued to talk to Draco, "I guess you figured it out, already, but the Mudblood was right. Sharp little thing. She said that somebody was using Weasley here to get to you."
"Enough, Crabbe," his tone leaving a clear message that he wasn't in a conversational mood.
Crabbe rolled his eyes at Malfoy's stubborness, and realizing he wasn't going to get any answers right now, remained silent for the rest of the ride. Arriving at the manor, Draco tried to escort Ginny out of the carriage, only to find that his little hellfire wasn't so exhausted as to finally stop arguing.
"I need to get back," she protested, yanking her hand from his grip. "I'm late for my shift at work. Hermione's worried... "
"I'm heading back that way anyway," Crabbe suggested to Draco. "Need to tell Goyle that he can stop looking for you. I could take her back."
Draco shook his head at Crabbe, turning his grey eyes to her, his stare leveling her with intensity. "You're in no condition to go to work or anywhere else until you get fixed up. You're coming with me."
For once she had to agree. She was weak and injured, she didn't know how badly. Her ribs hurt when she breathed. She considered going back to her flat, but finally gave up that the logic of being alone and badly hurt was not in her best interest. She looked at the intensity of Draco's expression, and for the first time, felt too tired to fight. Against all her better judgement, she quietly
exited the carriage.
Draco turned back to Crabbe, giving him some sort of instructions that she couldn't hear. Vaguely, as she realized her thoughts were becoming muddled from exhaustion, she realized that Draco was taking care of the situation, and some small part of her appreciated that.
Her memory of entering the house was hazy, and she recalled him leading her through the place in an almost trancelike state. It wasn't unusual for her to feel that way after dealing with a strong episode of her claustrophobia, but she wished that she'd had the presense of mind to pay more attention. The size of the
house rivalled some of the larger hotels in the city, and she realized that she probably couldn't find her way back through the hallways to get out if she needed to.
She made vague note of expensive drapery, marble pillars and stained glass as Draco gave orders to a house elf, and led her through the place never letting go of her hand.
Somewhere along the way, she realized that she had started thinking of him as Draco, instead of Malfoy. Again, she tossed the issue aside, not having the energy to fight herself on the matter.
He led her upstairs to a large bedroom, she opened her mouth to protest, but again, Malfoy's demeanor was neither predatory nor commanding. He only looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and concern. She followed him in. Sitting her down in a leather chair near the window, as he sat in the chair opposite her, focussing his attention on her bloodied hands.
"Let's take a look at this," he said. "I don't want you getting blood all over the furniture."
Again, she felt no urge to fight as he waved the wand over her fresh cuts and bruises, just like he did before. Mending her, as Hermione had suggested, a broken toy. Toy or not, she wasn't going to complain.
He didn't speak beyond casting the healing charms, and after he finished, he got up and walked away. She was left to examine her surroundings and quickly found that the house elves had already brought up a tray of sandwiches and fruit. She tore into them without invitation.
Malfoy chuckled. "I see your manners are living up to reputation."
Now that she seated, she found she no longer needed to use all her reserves to keep herself upright, she summoned the energy to glare at him, but took another bite of sandwich instead of answering.
His smile was slow and tired as he walked toward a large closet on the far side of the room. "I'm only joking, Weasley, eat up. I can't have you dying of starvation in my bedroom. "
His bedroom. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach. For some reason, that fact hadn't sunk in until that moment. Again, she tried to decide whether or not to attempt to flee, and found she didn't have the strength to do anything but follow his movements as he turned to rummaging in the wardrobe.
Eventually pulling out a large Chudley Cannons jersey, he turned back to her, grabbing an apple for himself. He looked at the shirt, looked at Ginny, and handed her the shirt. "This should do."
She looked at him in confusion.
"You can change into this," he clarified.
An image flashed in her mind of her parents staring at her with no small amount of disapproval. The thought, or maybe it was the food, gave her a renewed burst of energy. After months of verbally sparring with him, the words left her lips without any effort, "I am not changing into anything, Malfoy. I don't know what kind of delusions you're having right now as a result of being hit with that curse, but I assure you, I have no intention of being involved."
Exasperated was the look that plainly crossed his face.
"Weasely, for once, use your brain. First of all, you are a mess. If you took a look at yourself in the mirror, you'd understand that. If the house elves are going to do anything to clean up your clothing, you are going to have to change out of them."
She looked down at herself for the first time since this morning, when she'd checked herself in the mirror before going to visit Claire. Her blue sweater was torn in several places, covered in dust and blood. Her skirt was also torn and dirty. Heaving a sigh of defeat, she looked again at the shirt in his hand. It was Quiddich jersey from the Cannons team, one of the really nice, expensive ones that they sold in the team store - an exact replica of those that the team wore during their games. She'd always wanted one. But, never, in her wildest imagination, had she ever expected to get to wear such an item, much less under these particular conditions. She sighed again, and reluctantly, took the proferred shirt.
"Bathroom's over there," he said, pointing to a door opposite the bed.
She walked into the bath, looking at herself in one of the large mirrors, taking in her appearance, and realized that she looked absolutely frightful. She couldn't believe that he'd actually kissed her while she was in such a state, and immediately began to remove the ruined clothing.
Waiting for the shower water to warm, she distracted herself by internally grousing about the fact that Malfoy, being such a narcissitic prat probably loved having so many mirrors in which to admire himself. But her animosity toward him fell flat. She was trying her best to continue to hate him, and found herself failing miserably. The fact of the matter was, he'd been nothing but kind and caring ever since they'd left the school, ever since he had admitted that he loved her. And she still could not wrap her mind around that information.
She showered quickly, grimacing as the water stung several cuts and bruises that Malfoy had missed in his healing effort. She hadn't been willing to let him near anything that was covered by her clothing, so the unattended injuries would have to heal on their own. Washing her hair was difficult, as she found that she couldn't lift her left arm due to the pain in her ribcage. She struggled into jersey, and a pair of shorts and checked herself in the mirror, making sure she looked respectable. Yeah, respectable, she thought, in Draco Malfoy's bedroom, wearing little more than a very nice Chudley Cannons jersey. But the jersey was large, and hung almost to her knees, and she decided it would have to be good enough until the elves got her clothing back. She hoped it wouldn't be very long.
She returned to the main room, to find the food had been cleared away, and Draco sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes closed, looking pained and exhausted.
She'd lost count of how many times they had hit him with the cruciatus curse, and the memory brought her concern for him to the surface. He'd done that for her, so she wouldn't be maimed, and a wave of guilt washed over her. It was a miracle that they'd both survived relatively intact from the event, an event that happened due to her own stupidity. What was even worse for her conscience was that he'd spent every moment since their escape looking after her instead of himself.
She walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"I will be. I've survived worse."
"Worse than a cruciatus curse?"
"No, worse than their cruciatus curse. He wasn't that good at it."
She was shocked. "You've had someone do that to you before?"
His eyes were still closed, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, as if avoiding looking at her.
"I'd rather not talk about it right now. The damn thing sucks the life out of me. I don't have the energy."
But she couldn't let it go. He was finally opening up to her, and she needed to know. She needed some answers to know that he wasn't the monster that the story had made him out to be.
"So that's how you knew how to use it on that boy when you were 14."
He stood and looked at her, too tired to argue.
"Yeah," he looked sad and defeated, and utterly remorseful. As he turned to walk into the bath, she sat in the posh leather chair and contemplated the fact that now she knew his secret. Just as he knew her fear of small spaces, she knew from that one look that he was no monster.
----
He returned a few minutes later, dressed in pajama bottoms. Ginny was pulled from her reverie and felt herself gasp. She'd seen him always dressed impeccably, which she though was what helped him create the illusion of his striking, commanding presense. Now, clad only in his pajamas, his torso bare, his hair damp and tossled, she found herself mesmerized by him more than ever.
I hate him. She thought to herself. I am sworn to hate him. Why the hell does he have to look so good?
He walked over to the chair and held out his hand.
"Come on. Time for bed."
The egotistical, conniving, PRAT! She felt the anger at his insinuation bubble over anew.
Sputtering, she slapped his hand away. "I am not going anywhere, near that bed. How dare you insinuate that I would... I would..." she found that she couldn't even form the correct words to describe what she was thinking.
"Too good of a girl to even say it, are you?" he smiled. "Never thought I'd see the Weasel at a loss for words."
She practically snarled.
"You know, my dear, that as adorable as you are when you are furious, I wasn't even trying that time. And that reaction alone should convince me that there is no chance at all of you being the least bit unfaithful, regardless of the rumors."
"I think it's time for your elves to return my clothing and I should be on my way home. "
"Oh no, Little Weasel. You're not going anywhere tonight but to bed. I am too weak to do anything more to get you out of whatever disaster you might get yourself into. Therefore, I am NOT leaving you out of my sight right now. "
"Then I'll sleep right here, thank you."
"Suit yourself. But it will be extremely uncomfortable and probably a bit chilly," he said, glancing down at her bare legs. "I promise nothing will happen. I truly don't have the energy." Again, he held out his hand, and realizing that she really, really could not go a third night without a decent sleep, she followed him to the bed.
"Your side. My side." he pointed, lifting up the coverlet, and directing her in. She carefully sat on the edge and tucked her legs into the expensive sheets, making sure that the long shirt remained pulled down as low as possible, revealing nothing more than mid thigh. She continued to eye him distrustfully as he made a show of tucking the covers firmly around her, chuckling to himself.
He walked around the large bed and crawled in the other side. "You know, Weasel, for being so much trouble, you really are funny to keep around."
"Good night, Malfoy. If you come near me, I'll hex you."
She could still hear him laughing as she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
-----
Which led her back to her current situation. Now fully awake, she was sure that most of what occurred last night could only have been a dream. It was too unbelievable to be anything other.
She turned her head to watch Malfoy as he slept, just as when they had been trapped in the broom closet, his face had taken on an innocent, gentle expression in sleep. She decided that that part of him was the part that captivated her. Every so often that innocent boy came to the surface. It had temporarily fooled her that it was his real personality.
In any case, she couldn't let it be known that she'd spent the night in this house, in his bed, nomatter how platonic the particular situation. She felt the desperate need to flee. Thinking of the repercussions she'd suffered from a 2-second kiss last weekend, she didn't dare to imagine what would happen if her parents found out about THIS little incident. Panic began to set in as she tried to find a way to minimize the damage.
She moved the sheets back and tried to get out of the bed without disturbing the boy sleeping next to her. She felt his grip on her waist tighten as soon as she moved.
He didn't say anything, he simply looked at her, with a gentle smile in his eyes, and she did the only thing she could. She turned and bolted from the bed.
The quick movement aggravated the pain in her ribcage, leaving her with no doubt that the chair that Clair had smashed did indeed break a rib or two. She found herself crumpled on the floor, struggling to breathe through the intense pain in her side.
Her companion was beside her in an instant, and she had a brief moment of mentally cursing him for being so nice and utterly destoying her plans of hating him for all eternity.
Trying not to injure her further, he picked her up and laid her gently back on the bed. She lay there, holding her side and gasping for air.
"Good morning, Weasley," he said.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"I could ask how you are feeling on this lovely Sunday morning?"
"Go hang yourself," she really, really hated allowing him to see her in her present state and couldn't think of any other way to redirect his attention.
"Ahh, much better, it seems", he chuckled. "I myself have a splitting headache. Always do after getting the cruciatus... "
He wandered to the bath, returning with a potion bottle, from which he took a large dose. He offered the bottle to her. "It will help the pain until I can fix that rib."
"You seem to know a lot about all the illegal healing arts."
"I have to, from experience," he stated nonchalantly.
She took a sip from the bottle, and quickly the pain eased, though she could still tell that the injury remained.
He took out his wand, and moved to lift the end of her shirt to view the damage, when she stopped him.
"No way, Malfoy."
"You can't go without this being treated and you know it."
Wondering if he was using this as an excuse, she relented anyway. Again, the prat was right. She worked to try to memorize the healing charm he used, so that she wouldn't have to depend on him in the future.
He lifted the shirt, revealing the large, purple bruise that indicated the injured area. His touch was remarkably gentle, as it had been when he'd healed her wrist. He finished mending the bone, and pulled the shirt back down, over her shorts. She sat up moving to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.
"That will be a little sore for a day or so. Try not to pick any more fights."
"You know you have a wonderful manner about you. You should consider being a healer."
"I did tell you that you would be a wonderful distraction so my parents wouldn't mess around in other areas of my life, didn't I?"
So, he was interested in being a healer? She never would have guessed that. She'd have to bring that up later. "You went through a lot yesterday for the sake of simply keeping me as a distraction."
His voice hitched as he answered, not looking at her, "I already told you Weasel, don't make me repeat myself."
She wasn't about to. He'd said that he loved her, and that was something that must have been hard for him to admit. Worse for him, she hadn't made mention of returning his feelings, and, truthfully, wasn't about to. But he said it, and he apparently meant it. He felt something for her. All her years of despising him had convinced her he was incapable of such an emotion. Considering that she had only professed undying hatred of him in the recent past. This was all too sudden, and she needed to process the very recent change in her feelings.
"At the very least, considering that we spent the night together, we could possibly consider using first names."
"I'll consider it," he said, obviously relieved that she'd dropped that subject. "You'd best get dressed." He started to get up, but she grabbed his hand, and he sat back down, but his gaze was directed at the floor.
"Draco..." he looked back at her, and she looked into those pale silver blue eyes, and found herself completely defeated. She found that she cared about him too much to ever be able to properly hate him again.
"Thank you," she said, as she leaned over and kissed him.
Ginny woke the next morning from a deep sleep, briefly realizing that she felt more rested than she had in weeks. The moment was broken only seconds later, when she came to the shocking realization that she was, for the second time in only a few days, not waking up in her own bed.
As she came more awake, she took a deep breath, forced down a moment of panic, and took quick inventory of her surroundings. The bed was soft, warm and comfortable. The bedding was luxurious and deep emerald green, and there was an arm lazily draped across her waist. Fearful of moving, she used only her eyes to follow the arm up to a bare torso, and saw the tossled blond hair of her companion near her shoulder.
She was grateful for one thing, and that was that she did have a memory of the sequence of events that had gotten her into this particular situation. Taking another breath, she decided to gather all the facts she could pull from her sleep-fogged brain before taking further action. The last thing she wanted was to act rashly and make the situation even worse.
First and foremost in her mind came the most unbelievable fact of the previous day.
He'd said he loved her. HIM. The most dispicable, horrible, antagonistic prat in the universe. He who she had sworn to hate for all eternity, had gone to rescue her, risking his own life and sanity at the hands of scheming Claire and her friends, because he loved her. And then the both of them walked out of the room, together. If they both weren't completely exhausted, and in no small amount of pain from the traumas they'd just endured, she thought their exit from the Dark Arts classroom could almost be classified as almost a happy moment.
But to think, after all her months, no, years of despising him, that he would say that he had fallen in love with her.
After having had time to rest and recover, she tried to logically understand why he would say something like that, and could come up with only one logical conclusion, and that was that he'd likely suffered some degree of madness from enduring so many instances of the cruciatus curse.
As for herself, and her current, rather embarrassing predicament, she concluded that the physical and emotional shock from her own injuries had left her a temporarily soft in the head. Or else she was still quite soundly asleep and this was all a very bizarre dream. She really, really could not fathom that she was waking up, quite comfortably in Draco Malfoy's bed.
Not sure she was fully awake, and not yet prepared to move and risk waking the boy sleeping soundly next to her, she decided to review last nights events and see if there could be any explanation other than temporary insanity.
-----
12 hours ago
------
Both injured and exhausted, they helped each other stumble off the school grounds. Their captors had seen lights outside heading in the direction of the school, as they weakly limped down the path toward Hogsmeade, they found that the source of the light had been none other than Vincent Crabbe.
"I thought I stunned you," Draco greeted his friend.
"Yeah, well, Goyle and I were stuck out there for almost an hour."
"You shouldn't have tried to follow me," Draco grumbled back, still leaning heavily on Ginny for support.
"Looks like we should have," he replied, taking in the bruised and bloodied appearance of each of them. "What the hell happened?"
"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Draco replied. "It's been taken care of, for now."
Crabbe looked concerned, glancing over at Ginny to see if she would yield any further information, but she remained silent. He seemed to at least be satisfied that no murders had been committed, and grunted dismissively. "Well, then, best get you back," he stated casually, as if nothing had happened of any consequence.
She was grateful for the help. She was physically spent, and Draco seemed to be no better off. As Crabbe moved to put his arm around her waist, she felt no urge to resist. Draco, while also barely standing, seemed reluctant to show weakness and walked slowly on his own beside her.
Getting to the main road, Crabbe summoned a carriage for hire, and instructed the driver to take them to Malfoy's home. She was grateful that darkness had fallen, allowing them to minimize anyone noticing their rather odd state. Under disguise of dark, their slow, weak movements could easily have been mistaken for a bit of overindulgance in spirits from one of the usual nightspots.
"Where's Goyle?" Draco inquired, after they entered the privacy of the carriage.
"He went to the 3 Broomsticks with Weasely's little Mudblood friend. I think he fancies her." Crabbe winked almost cheerfully.
Ginny bristled at the derogatory remark, but held her tongue.
"She was here?" Ginny asked.
"Apparently she came looking for you, worried sick when you didn't show up for work. She thought maybe Malfoy might have had something to do with it." He smiled sheepishly at Ginny, "She was the one who unfroze us. Anyway," he said, turning back to Draco, "you mentioned going to the school, so I was going to head up there. Goyle was going to bring her back then meet me there."
He looked more closely at Ginny's bedraggled appearance, and turned to Malfoy "Do I get to ask what happened?"
"No."
Undeterred, he continued to talk to Draco, "I guess you figured it out, already, but the Mudblood was right. Sharp little thing. She said that somebody was using Weasley here to get to you."
"Enough, Crabbe," his tone leaving a clear message that he wasn't in a conversational mood.
Crabbe rolled his eyes at Malfoy's stubborness, and realizing he wasn't going to get any answers right now, remained silent for the rest of the ride. Arriving at the manor, Draco tried to escort Ginny out of the carriage, only to find that his little hellfire wasn't so exhausted as to finally stop arguing.
"I need to get back," she protested, yanking her hand from his grip. "I'm late for my shift at work. Hermione's worried... "
"I'm heading back that way anyway," Crabbe suggested to Draco. "Need to tell Goyle that he can stop looking for you. I could take her back."
Draco shook his head at Crabbe, turning his grey eyes to her, his stare leveling her with intensity. "You're in no condition to go to work or anywhere else until you get fixed up. You're coming with me."
For once she had to agree. She was weak and injured, she didn't know how badly. Her ribs hurt when she breathed. She considered going back to her flat, but finally gave up that the logic of being alone and badly hurt was not in her best interest. She looked at the intensity of Draco's expression, and for the first time, felt too tired to fight. Against all her better judgement, she quietly
exited the carriage.
Draco turned back to Crabbe, giving him some sort of instructions that she couldn't hear. Vaguely, as she realized her thoughts were becoming muddled from exhaustion, she realized that Draco was taking care of the situation, and some small part of her appreciated that.
Her memory of entering the house was hazy, and she recalled him leading her through the place in an almost trancelike state. It wasn't unusual for her to feel that way after dealing with a strong episode of her claustrophobia, but she wished that she'd had the presense of mind to pay more attention. The size of the
house rivalled some of the larger hotels in the city, and she realized that she probably couldn't find her way back through the hallways to get out if she needed to.
She made vague note of expensive drapery, marble pillars and stained glass as Draco gave orders to a house elf, and led her through the place never letting go of her hand.
Somewhere along the way, she realized that she had started thinking of him as Draco, instead of Malfoy. Again, she tossed the issue aside, not having the energy to fight herself on the matter.
He led her upstairs to a large bedroom, she opened her mouth to protest, but again, Malfoy's demeanor was neither predatory nor commanding. He only looked at her with a mixture of fatigue and concern. She followed him in. Sitting her down in a leather chair near the window, as he sat in the chair opposite her, focussing his attention on her bloodied hands.
"Let's take a look at this," he said. "I don't want you getting blood all over the furniture."
Again, she felt no urge to fight as he waved the wand over her fresh cuts and bruises, just like he did before. Mending her, as Hermione had suggested, a broken toy. Toy or not, she wasn't going to complain.
He didn't speak beyond casting the healing charms, and after he finished, he got up and walked away. She was left to examine her surroundings and quickly found that the house elves had already brought up a tray of sandwiches and fruit. She tore into them without invitation.
Malfoy chuckled. "I see your manners are living up to reputation."
Now that she seated, she found she no longer needed to use all her reserves to keep herself upright, she summoned the energy to glare at him, but took another bite of sandwich instead of answering.
His smile was slow and tired as he walked toward a large closet on the far side of the room. "I'm only joking, Weasley, eat up. I can't have you dying of starvation in my bedroom. "
His bedroom. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach. For some reason, that fact hadn't sunk in until that moment. Again, she tried to decide whether or not to attempt to flee, and found she didn't have the strength to do anything but follow his movements as he turned to rummaging in the wardrobe.
Eventually pulling out a large Chudley Cannons jersey, he turned back to her, grabbing an apple for himself. He looked at the shirt, looked at Ginny, and handed her the shirt. "This should do."
She looked at him in confusion.
"You can change into this," he clarified.
An image flashed in her mind of her parents staring at her with no small amount of disapproval. The thought, or maybe it was the food, gave her a renewed burst of energy. After months of verbally sparring with him, the words left her lips without any effort, "I am not changing into anything, Malfoy. I don't know what kind of delusions you're having right now as a result of being hit with that curse, but I assure you, I have no intention of being involved."
Exasperated was the look that plainly crossed his face.
"Weasely, for once, use your brain. First of all, you are a mess. If you took a look at yourself in the mirror, you'd understand that. If the house elves are going to do anything to clean up your clothing, you are going to have to change out of them."
She looked down at herself for the first time since this morning, when she'd checked herself in the mirror before going to visit Claire. Her blue sweater was torn in several places, covered in dust and blood. Her skirt was also torn and dirty. Heaving a sigh of defeat, she looked again at the shirt in his hand. It was Quiddich jersey from the Cannons team, one of the really nice, expensive ones that they sold in the team store - an exact replica of those that the team wore during their games. She'd always wanted one. But, never, in her wildest imagination, had she ever expected to get to wear such an item, much less under these particular conditions. She sighed again, and reluctantly, took the proferred shirt.
"Bathroom's over there," he said, pointing to a door opposite the bed.
She walked into the bath, looking at herself in one of the large mirrors, taking in her appearance, and realized that she looked absolutely frightful. She couldn't believe that he'd actually kissed her while she was in such a state, and immediately began to remove the ruined clothing.
Waiting for the shower water to warm, she distracted herself by internally grousing about the fact that Malfoy, being such a narcissitic prat probably loved having so many mirrors in which to admire himself. But her animosity toward him fell flat. She was trying her best to continue to hate him, and found herself failing miserably. The fact of the matter was, he'd been nothing but kind and caring ever since they'd left the school, ever since he had admitted that he loved her. And she still could not wrap her mind around that information.
She showered quickly, grimacing as the water stung several cuts and bruises that Malfoy had missed in his healing effort. She hadn't been willing to let him near anything that was covered by her clothing, so the unattended injuries would have to heal on their own. Washing her hair was difficult, as she found that she couldn't lift her left arm due to the pain in her ribcage. She struggled into jersey, and a pair of shorts and checked herself in the mirror, making sure she looked respectable. Yeah, respectable, she thought, in Draco Malfoy's bedroom, wearing little more than a very nice Chudley Cannons jersey. But the jersey was large, and hung almost to her knees, and she decided it would have to be good enough until the elves got her clothing back. She hoped it wouldn't be very long.
She returned to the main room, to find the food had been cleared away, and Draco sitting in one of the chairs, his eyes closed, looking pained and exhausted.
She'd lost count of how many times they had hit him with the cruciatus curse, and the memory brought her concern for him to the surface. He'd done that for her, so she wouldn't be maimed, and a wave of guilt washed over her. It was a miracle that they'd both survived relatively intact from the event, an event that happened due to her own stupidity. What was even worse for her conscience was that he'd spent every moment since their escape looking after her instead of himself.
She walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"I will be. I've survived worse."
"Worse than a cruciatus curse?"
"No, worse than their cruciatus curse. He wasn't that good at it."
She was shocked. "You've had someone do that to you before?"
His eyes were still closed, and he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, as if avoiding looking at her.
"I'd rather not talk about it right now. The damn thing sucks the life out of me. I don't have the energy."
But she couldn't let it go. He was finally opening up to her, and she needed to know. She needed some answers to know that he wasn't the monster that the story had made him out to be.
"So that's how you knew how to use it on that boy when you were 14."
He stood and looked at her, too tired to argue.
"Yeah," he looked sad and defeated, and utterly remorseful. As he turned to walk into the bath, she sat in the posh leather chair and contemplated the fact that now she knew his secret. Just as he knew her fear of small spaces, she knew from that one look that he was no monster.
----
He returned a few minutes later, dressed in pajama bottoms. Ginny was pulled from her reverie and felt herself gasp. She'd seen him always dressed impeccably, which she though was what helped him create the illusion of his striking, commanding presense. Now, clad only in his pajamas, his torso bare, his hair damp and tossled, she found herself mesmerized by him more than ever.
I hate him. She thought to herself. I am sworn to hate him. Why the hell does he have to look so good?
He walked over to the chair and held out his hand.
"Come on. Time for bed."
The egotistical, conniving, PRAT! She felt the anger at his insinuation bubble over anew.
Sputtering, she slapped his hand away. "I am not going anywhere, near that bed. How dare you insinuate that I would... I would..." she found that she couldn't even form the correct words to describe what she was thinking.
"Too good of a girl to even say it, are you?" he smiled. "Never thought I'd see the Weasel at a loss for words."
She practically snarled.
"You know, my dear, that as adorable as you are when you are furious, I wasn't even trying that time. And that reaction alone should convince me that there is no chance at all of you being the least bit unfaithful, regardless of the rumors."
"I think it's time for your elves to return my clothing and I should be on my way home. "
"Oh no, Little Weasel. You're not going anywhere tonight but to bed. I am too weak to do anything more to get you out of whatever disaster you might get yourself into. Therefore, I am NOT leaving you out of my sight right now. "
"Then I'll sleep right here, thank you."
"Suit yourself. But it will be extremely uncomfortable and probably a bit chilly," he said, glancing down at her bare legs. "I promise nothing will happen. I truly don't have the energy." Again, he held out his hand, and realizing that she really, really could not go a third night without a decent sleep, she followed him to the bed.
"Your side. My side." he pointed, lifting up the coverlet, and directing her in. She carefully sat on the edge and tucked her legs into the expensive sheets, making sure that the long shirt remained pulled down as low as possible, revealing nothing more than mid thigh. She continued to eye him distrustfully as he made a show of tucking the covers firmly around her, chuckling to himself.
He walked around the large bed and crawled in the other side. "You know, Weasel, for being so much trouble, you really are funny to keep around."
"Good night, Malfoy. If you come near me, I'll hex you."
She could still hear him laughing as she drifted off into an exhausted sleep.
-----
Which led her back to her current situation. Now fully awake, she was sure that most of what occurred last night could only have been a dream. It was too unbelievable to be anything other.
She turned her head to watch Malfoy as he slept, just as when they had been trapped in the broom closet, his face had taken on an innocent, gentle expression in sleep. She decided that that part of him was the part that captivated her. Every so often that innocent boy came to the surface. It had temporarily fooled her that it was his real personality.
In any case, she couldn't let it be known that she'd spent the night in this house, in his bed, nomatter how platonic the particular situation. She felt the desperate need to flee. Thinking of the repercussions she'd suffered from a 2-second kiss last weekend, she didn't dare to imagine what would happen if her parents found out about THIS little incident. Panic began to set in as she tried to find a way to minimize the damage.
She moved the sheets back and tried to get out of the bed without disturbing the boy sleeping next to her. She felt his grip on her waist tighten as soon as she moved.
He didn't say anything, he simply looked at her, with a gentle smile in his eyes, and she did the only thing she could. She turned and bolted from the bed.
The quick movement aggravated the pain in her ribcage, leaving her with no doubt that the chair that Clair had smashed did indeed break a rib or two. She found herself crumpled on the floor, struggling to breathe through the intense pain in her side.
Her companion was beside her in an instant, and she had a brief moment of mentally cursing him for being so nice and utterly destoying her plans of hating him for all eternity.
Trying not to injure her further, he picked her up and laid her gently back on the bed. She lay there, holding her side and gasping for air.
"Good morning, Weasley," he said.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"
"I could ask how you are feeling on this lovely Sunday morning?"
"Go hang yourself," she really, really hated allowing him to see her in her present state and couldn't think of any other way to redirect his attention.
"Ahh, much better, it seems", he chuckled. "I myself have a splitting headache. Always do after getting the cruciatus... "
He wandered to the bath, returning with a potion bottle, from which he took a large dose. He offered the bottle to her. "It will help the pain until I can fix that rib."
"You seem to know a lot about all the illegal healing arts."
"I have to, from experience," he stated nonchalantly.
She took a sip from the bottle, and quickly the pain eased, though she could still tell that the injury remained.
He took out his wand, and moved to lift the end of her shirt to view the damage, when she stopped him.
"No way, Malfoy."
"You can't go without this being treated and you know it."
Wondering if he was using this as an excuse, she relented anyway. Again, the prat was right. She worked to try to memorize the healing charm he used, so that she wouldn't have to depend on him in the future.
He lifted the shirt, revealing the large, purple bruise that indicated the injured area. His touch was remarkably gentle, as it had been when he'd healed her wrist. He finished mending the bone, and pulled the shirt back down, over her shorts. She sat up moving to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.
"That will be a little sore for a day or so. Try not to pick any more fights."
"You know you have a wonderful manner about you. You should consider being a healer."
"I did tell you that you would be a wonderful distraction so my parents wouldn't mess around in other areas of my life, didn't I?"
So, he was interested in being a healer? She never would have guessed that. She'd have to bring that up later. "You went through a lot yesterday for the sake of simply keeping me as a distraction."
His voice hitched as he answered, not looking at her, "I already told you Weasel, don't make me repeat myself."
She wasn't about to. He'd said that he loved her, and that was something that must have been hard for him to admit. Worse for him, she hadn't made mention of returning his feelings, and, truthfully, wasn't about to. But he said it, and he apparently meant it. He felt something for her. All her years of despising him had convinced her he was incapable of such an emotion. Considering that she had only professed undying hatred of him in the recent past. This was all too sudden, and she needed to process the very recent change in her feelings.
"At the very least, considering that we spent the night together, we could possibly consider using first names."
"I'll consider it," he said, obviously relieved that she'd dropped that subject. "You'd best get dressed." He started to get up, but she grabbed his hand, and he sat back down, but his gaze was directed at the floor.
"Draco..." he looked back at her, and she looked into those pale silver blue eyes, and found herself completely defeated. She found that she cared about him too much to ever be able to properly hate him again.
"Thank you," she said, as she leaned over and kissed him.
Author notes: Just minor grammar updates....
The End.
gidge_8 is the author of 10 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 6 members. Members who liked When Chaos meets Morning also liked 1113 other stories.
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