More Than Anyone
I’m gonna love you more than anyone…
Chapter 1-The Saviour’s Saviour"Winners never talk about glorious victories.
That's because they're the ones who see what the battlefield looks like afterwards.
It's only the losers who have glorious victories."
- Terry Pratchett, Small Gods
Ginny didn’t know how to react when she rushed towards the doors of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, where a small crowd had gathered and parted in the middle to comply with the shouted orders of Neville Longbottom to let through two figures who were actually Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.
Most people would have to take some time to get over the naturally overwhelming fact that at long last, the Dark Lord had truly been vanquished once and for all by none other than the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter.
Said boy was unconscious and had an arm around Draco Malfoy, who was half-naked, wearing only black pants; his robes and a top to go inside it were nowhere to be seen; no shoes adorned his feet to keep off the cold. He was panting, looking as though he was trying hard not to faint, and he finally paused from walking to look directly at Ginny, who was at the middle of the parting in the crowd, and opened his mouth to speak.
“Save…” pant, “Harry…” pant - pant, “Potter,” he managed to say, breaking through the shock of the people who all looked as if freedom had just dawned upon them, some of whom were cheering, some crying, others expressing mixed emotions. Capable men took Harry from Draco’s supporting arms, saying they would take care of him, while someone closed the doors and Neville took hold of Draco and helped him walk.
“D-don’t worry, Malfoy,” he said, sounding quite taken-aback at having a talk with Draco Malfoy. “Seamus and Dean will put Harry in the make-shift infirmary and surrender him directly to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll fix Harry in a jiffy.”
Draco shook his head, not believing the comforting words of the nervous and clumsy Gryffindor, using his other hand to swat away the hands of Neville. “Must… Potter… heal…”
Neville’s eyes widened when Draco tried to walk and stumbled, almost falling face flat on the ground if not for Neville’s support. “Mate, you should be taken care of yourself. Harry will be healed by the best hands; I’m sure Hermione and Ron—stop calling them Mudblood and filth! Honestly, Malfoy, you shouldn’t be insulting people when you’re in no good shape to fight!”
Ginny walked towards them and took hold of Draco’s other arm, putting it on her much smaller shoulders. “I’ll heal him,” she told Neville, earning an incredulous look from the boy who knew very well about the Malfoy-Weasley - er - feud. “I’m a practicing medi-witch. I’m sure I have potions inside my room.”
She had been helping Madam Pomfrey for days now. Most of the witches were, while the wizards who had remained conjured spells to fit thousands of people into two hundred rooms with the least squabbles they could manage. There were few wizards, for most had been recruited for the Order. But they might be back right away now that Voldemort was gone.
She led the two men into her room where there were piles of potions and medicine books, making Malfoy sit on the bed while she retrieved her wand from the small table in a corner of the room. The room was Gryffindor red, complete with drawings of their mascot.
When she turned to face the men, she saw that Draco had fallen asleep in a sitting position from much exhaustion while Neville was looking at Draco’s back, so still and pale that he could have been mistaken for having seen a Basilisk and been frozen by its glare.
“Neville, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked with concern, walking around the bed to look at Draco’s back.
The sight that greeted her made her knees weak with pity, disgust and sympathy that she fell on the bed, her hands falling to her sides, quite numb.
There were red welts on Draco Malfoy’s back where he had undoubtedly been whipped, and some of the gashes had dried blood on them.
No wonder Neville was so pale.
With hands shaking terribly, Ginny managed to stand up from the bed and Summon a clean white cloth and a silver bowl. She filled it up with water just warm enough to kill whatever germs the blond-haired Slytherin might acquire from his lashes.
“Neville, I know that what I’m about to ask as a favour might sound terribly cruel, but could you please wake Malfoy for me? I’d rather he be awake when I clean up his wounds.” At Neville’s questioning glance, Ginny explained, “We might lose him in his sleep.”
Neville nodded with little hesitance and shook Draco slightly until he stirred awake. His grey eyes slowly took in the sight of the room and he stared with half-lidded eyes up at Neville, who took a step back. He obviously did not have much energy to spare since he did not even bother to glare at the boy, but looked threatening nonetheless, even in his battered state.
“What’s your problem, Longbottom?” he muttered. Neville looked uneasy, turning his head slightly, eyes darting towards the door as if wanting to escape - and perhaps, he did.
“You can leave now, Neville,” Ginny told him, managing a small smile. Concerned for Ginny’s welfare, it took some time before Neville nodded, gave a smile of his own and walked out the door.
“This is not the time to take advantage of me, Weasley. I don’t even have much energy to keep my eyes open, much less perform.” It both irritated and astonished Ginny that Draco Malfoy could make such a lewd remark even in his injured state.
“I am not. I was actually hoping to clean your wounds and apply healing potions on your wounds to heal them. But if you’d rather bleed to death with the pain on your back, then by all means, save me the potions and time,” Ginny said sarcastically, annoyed at Draco.
Draco did not reply, but swayed a little to his left, looking alarmingly dizzy, so Ginny hastily helped him upright.
“This will be painful, which is why I put a Silencing Charm on the door. You can shout all you want, I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” she said whole-heartedly.
He made a sound akin to snorting but was too dignified to make the sound itself.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Disregard your Malfoy pride just for a moment. It helps ease the pain when you shout,” she informed him. “You don’t have to impress anyone.”
Draco stayed silent and Ginny shrugged, squeezed the towel to remove its excess water and made her way towards Draco’s back but stopped her hand mid-air, uncertain if she could do this.
Just seeing his wounds made her feel uneasy and put her on the verge of tears. How could anyone do this? How could anyone inflict such suffering on such a young man?
“You can start,” Draco Malfoy said quietly, taking Ginny out of her reverie.
She dabbed the cloth as gently as she could, earning no sound from Draco at all. Looking down, she saw that he was clutching her bed sheets tightly, his knuckles white.
“You must be very brave,” she commented softly, blushing as she blurted out her thoughts.
“Why would you think that?” he asked her through gritted teeth.
“Well, to go through all this torture… and then in spite of all the pain this is surely causing you to suffer, you even managed to save…” She gulped down the lump in her throat, unable to say his name.
“Potter,” he said for her, looking to his left, a faraway look in his eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t want to be here.
She nodded. “Harry,” she was finally able to say.
“I didn’t save him,” he said, shaking his head. “I just tried to keep him alive.”
“That’s synonymous to saving him,” she pointed out.
“Are you sure you’re not know-it-all Granger?” he asked dryly, raising his eyebrow.
Well at least he’s quickly getting his strength back, Ginny thought to herself, seeing his trademark brow-arch.
Ginny’s mouth quirked upwards. “Quite sure… she’d be lecturing you if she were in my place,” she said, gently sliding the cloth to an unmarked small space of flesh, clearing out the dried blood and dipping the blood-drenched towel back into the bowl. Squeezing out as much blood as she could, she swished her wand to put new water in the silver bowl. She didn’t include that despite having worked with Draco to plan the downfall of Voldemort, or finding out that Draco had saved Harry, Hermione would still need to be persuaded strongly before she would heal Draco.
“Ah, good point,” he said, suddenly agreeable for once, probably because of the pain he was feeling. “But then, she’d never readily volunteer herself to help me even if I were on the verge of dying,” he said softly, making Ginny feel as if he knew the words she had left unsaid.
“You don’t know that,” Ginny said, swift in defending her friend but sounding unconvincing for she was unsure if Hermione would do so herself.
“And,” he said softly, “I never thought you would too.” He said it in such a sincere sort of way that he unconsciously warmed Ginny’s heart considerably towards the die-hard Slytherin, Draco. It got her thinking that no matter what Draco Malfoy had done or who he was-son of Death Eater and stuck-up full-blooded wizard extraordinaire, he didn’t deserve such torture.
“Everyone’s lining up to help Harry… think of it this way, Malfoy: if everyone wants to be a part of the team healing Harry,” at this point Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘The Dark Lord Slayer’, “then how about those injured who did their part to help the Order but aren’t Harry Potter?” Ginny told him matter-of-factly, nodding her head, thoroughly convinced of what she had said.
“You’re very considerate, She-Weasley,” he complimented her. “Such a sacrifice not to see the boy you’ve been crazy about forever to save a Slytherin.”
“She-Weasley?” she prodded, dodging his prying comment.
“Yeah, your kind is vast but not much female to go around, just strength to make lots of heirs.”
And that’s putting it nicely, Ginny knew he was thinking, from his tone.
Ginny wanted to slap him, but it would be downright cruelty to inflict further pain on an already-injured man. And even though she wanted to slab the potion haphazardly onto his back and let him shriek in pain as too much potion would burn his back, she controlled herself and applied the potion gently, making a thin layer of shiny cream on his back, eliciting a hiss of pain from him and causing him to recoil from her such that she had to stop her ministrations. The potion was fast-relieving but of course it came with the price of some amount of pain. It dried the wounds quickly so that it would heal completely in just a few days. Putting more than enough would burn the wounds and increase their severity. She tried to do it more gently than she already was, not bothering to break the silence, awkward as it was, for she knew it was better than the bickering that would surely ensue should she start a conversation.
However, Malfoy put it upon himself to fill the void of silence. “Is this your dream job, Weasley, to become a mediwitch?” he asked in a patronising way that made Ginny clench her fist. Maybe it was the trace of disdain and boredom in his voice that ticked her off more. “I can’t imagine why one would want to be a mediwitch,” he said, more as a loud opinion to himself.
“Because it takes a lot of compassion to treat wounded people, Malfoy, or aren’t you familiar with that emotion? No, it is not my dream job to be a mediwitch, Malfoy but I feel a sense of responsibility for the people who have risked their lives for a better future if not for themselves, then for their loved ones. I appreciate their sacrifices and helping those who…” did not die “…were harmed in this battle, and helping people heal themselves is but a small compensation for not being there with them, for not fighting with them.” For not being with Harry…
“You have no responsibility to these people and neither should you feel a sense of gratitude for what they have done, for it is their choice, their will to serve and fight for the Order.” He didn’t include himself, he did not use ‘our’, although he was clearly one of those people that had risked their lives, and Ginny vaguely wondered why.
“And it is my will and my choice to heal them. Why are you questioning me, Malfoy?” Ginny asked, pausing from her second layering of another potion that would numb the pain for Draco for at least ten hours to allow him to sleep for a while, putting her hands on her hips and finally asking him directly, but he was unable to give an answer.
It suddenly occurred to Ginny that Draco felt uneasy about her willing compassion to help him. Maybe he had grown up knowing that those who surrounded him who made an effort to show care had ulterior motives and would likely hurt him in the process of getting what they wanted. Ginny suddenly felt sympathy for Draco Malfoy.
How could he live like that, always watching his back, doing his best to always be one step ahead? He had put into his head the idea that everyone had the intention of hurting him so he instilled in himself cunning and slyness so that he would always be protected.
Ginny knew she wouldn’t be able to survive living like that.
“I can see pity in your eyes, She-Weasley. I don’t need it,” Draco said coldly, his grey eyes sharp.
She immediately tried to stop herself from thinking beyond getting Malfoy healed and done with. As soon as she was done… her cheeks coloured a light shade of rose. As soon as she was done with her responsibility which was currently Draco Malfoy, she would go directly to Harry’s side, inquire of his condition and take care of him and wait for him to wake up. She wanted to be there when he awakened, despite the fact that their relationship had ended two years ago and actually only lasted for a few weeks then.
Still, no matter how hard she tried to stay away, she couldn’t. Love could be harboured in a day and still be alive for years even if your love affair had been immensely quick. For it is the intensity of the emotion and ministrations that are given which is measured and not the time spent. There was something about Harry that pulled her to him. Maybe it was his hero-complex. But Ginny didn’t think so. It was more than that, deeper than that, she thought.
Finally, Ginny dropped the potions onto the table and waved her wand to magically put the table and the healing potions into a corner of the room, to declare that they were done.
“I’ll show you to a room where you can have a night’s sleep,” she told Malfoy shortly. He raised an eyebrow.
“How many rooms are there in this place?” he asked curiously.
“It’s enchanted to have two-hundred counted. The trapdoors, secret rooms - I’m not sure how many there are of those. A hundred and fifty rooms are used by the many inhabitants of Grimmauld Place needing help—don’t raise your eyebrow—namely, the sick, disabled and those who don’t have a home to stay in anymore. The other fifty are divided between healing and housing those who are Healers and Protectors,” she informed him as quickly as she could without sounding like she was rapping.
“You’re going to confine me in a room with another person?” he asked her point-blank. He had his left hand on his right shoulder, as if trying to see if he could touch his back; it would suddenly shoot bolts of pain through his entire body.
Her mouth quirked at the side. “You saved the saviour. I guess that warrants you your own room.”
“How very considerate of you.” Somehow, Ginny didn’t think it was very much a compliment.
She draped a blanket on his back gently so that the cold would not go to his back when the potions had dried. Personally, she didn’t like putting anything on a freshly-potioned portion of a body for she imagined it was like putting petroleum jelly on the side of your face you sleep on and that was just disgusting. But then again, the potion had dried and Malfoy didn’t seem to mind much anyway.
She supported his arm as she opened the door and they walked out sideways. She looked around, trying to remember where she had heard there were still vacancies. Some of the Aurors and Healers preferred not to sleep alone for different reasons. Ginny had wanted her own room, disliking having to socialise when she was tired.
She opened the door to a room and weirdly enough, it had a green theme.
“Well, look at this! The perfect room,” she commented, helping Malfoy to sit on the forest green comforter on the bed. “This must be fate. Or maybe it’s enchanted to fit the person’s personality.”
Draco raised a dark blond brow. “You think I’m green-minded?” he asked her in a half-bored, half-curious tone. “And you’re supposed to be romantic and fiery because you have a red room?”
She shook her head at his assumption. “I just think you’re Slytherin to the core,” she said simply.
“Grow up, She-Weasley; we’re not in Hogwarts anymore. House colours are just what they are,” he said coldly, his grey eyes narrowed.
“It’s Ginny, okay? Ginny. Not Virginia but Ginevra shortened to Ginny. Blimey,” she said exasperatedly slapping a palm on her forehead and earning an eyebrow arch from Draco “do I have to go on and on? A bloke was chatting me up the other day, kept calling me Virgin-not and I had half a mind to just cut off his—” Draco held up a hand, a gesture for her to stop and she did.
“Well, no one knew your real name, now, did they? It’s not as if any of your several brothers called you anything else but your nickname.”
When she looked like she was about to speak, Draco cut in again.
“Then Ginny it is,” he said soothingly, as if he were talking to a child throwing a big temper tantrum.
She nodded her head, ignoring his mocking. “Good. Well, I’m off. After ten hours, I’ll see to your back. Until then, have a good night’s rest,” she said, attempting a small smile, and closed the door behind her, not looking at Malfoy at all.
While she was walking, she suddenly whipped her head towards his room. Wait a minute; he didn’t even have the manners to tell her to call him Draco!
OxOxOxOxO
For a long time, Draco just looked at the door, pondering. He was kind of taken aback by she—er, Ginny. He had never felt the emotion of being in love with someone; although he had been in a lot of relationships with women, he had never felt that emotion they all called ‘love.’ Sure, he had felt fondness and desire, but that was typical for a male his age. But he was sort of certain that if it were true that Ginny was in love with Potter, wouldn’t she want to be fawning over him? Wouldn’t she want to just push away every other person and see to him personally?He imagined that if he ever felt this emotion, he’d be punching his way to the person he cared for. But freckled chalk-white (why she was so pale, Draco did not know, but he guessed it was because of the state of his back) Ginny opted to stay with him and heal him; even argue with him, which was very peculiar. She did say that she considered him a hero, but was that enough reason to put his life first before Harry’s? She had justified her reasons, but it still befuddled him.
Maybe she likes me, Draco thought to himself in a joking manner and it made him smirk outwardly and laugh his head off inwardly. Yeah, right. For generations, their clans had been fighting and it would not be up to him to break a long, long tradition of war between Malfoy and Weasley. Then again, he had turned his back on his father when he decided to fight for The Order. He had let himself be tortured for saving Harry Potter, for acting as a double agent. Right now for Draco, anything was possible. In fact, he could be seeing a silver-haired angel right now who had suddenly opened the door…
“Who’re you?” he asked (unconsciously rudely) the seemingly angel-like entity in the shape of a woman. The entity smiled at him and closed the door. The glow behind ‘her’ back somewhat diminished but her body, from head to toe still seemed to glimmer.
“I do not expect you to remember me,” the person said in a heavy French accent (she pronounced you as “ee-yu”). She seemed to have a very bad cold. “Our conversation ‘as been very brief, but I am very thankful zat you followed my instructions.”
Pronounce well, woman, Draco wanted to say, but refrained from doing so. He couldn’t seem to be able to remember her. He was sure he would have been able to remember such a beautiful face, from the woman’s blonde hair tinted with silver to her beautiful heart-shaped face and her pink lips. But he did not. It was very odd for him, for he rarely forgot about anything. He could even remember what his mother said when he was two years old and he wanted to ride an eagle. It was ‘no’.
“Instructions?” he echoed her last word. The woman came closer, and when the light had left her figure, he remembered her. It dawned upon him that she was the woman he had met by the Astronomy tower one night when he was in his seventh year at Hogwarts. It was very dark and their only source of light was the stars and the moon, which was the reason he was not able to recognise her quickly. He had been given a letter by an owl to meet someone in the Astronomy tower. He had considered it quite peculiar but thought better to find out for himself who it was.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been much surprised. After what he had done the year previous to that, he should never have returned. He should have, in fact, been expelled. But the portrait of Dumbledore had spoken and said he’d rather let Draco finish his studies. Dumbledore had been quite disappointed that Ron, Hermione and Harry did not make an effort to finish their school, although he knew it was because Harry wanted to go in search of Voldemort’s weaknesses and to gain experience.
Of course, his two loyal best friends would not let him get himself into trouble alone. They were like a package deal, a buy-one take-two bargain Draco didn’t really fancy but envied nonetheless. He was jealous that two people in their (debatably) right minds would follow him to the depths of hell when his two own goons would not. Now he knew it: when people despised him, were hateful, they left him. At Christmas, they did not return to Hogwarts, joining instead the ranks of Voldemort. He knew that the two, Crabbe and Goyle were dead. He had seen them himself, being punished by the Dark Lord for being stupid enough not to be able to go the right direction to a Death Eaters’ camp (and being held hostage by the Order of the Phoenix and thus tortured for information by the harsher members). They had betrayed information and when they escaped the clutches of the Order, they were killed by hands they had once followed and accepted as their Lord.
Their parents had not even begged for their lives. And Draco had just closed his eyes and looked away, he himself being whipped on the back at that time.
“Yes, I was ze woman ’oo made you decide your pledge of allegiances.” She smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes in a manner that would make most men adore her, but he surprisingly enough was immune to her extraordinarily good looks.
Probably got used to looking in the mirror at myself, he thought to himself off-handedly. He nodded his head, barely understanding her words. “Yes, I remember now,” he told her, assuring her. “You’re Gabrielle, am I right? You know, I can understand French and if you’d rather speak in your native language, then it is all right with me.”
“No matter, I am off,” the woman said, happy now that Draco had identified her. “I just wanted to thank you. If it wasn’t for you, ze cause wuzn’t ‘ave won.”
He really just wished she would speak in French. The accent was kind of annoying. So he started to speak in French, hoping that she would follow suit.
“If it hadn’t been for Harry, the cause would have lost. It is not my place to accept your gratitude; it is yours to give it to Harry.”
As he had expected, she spoke in French, delighted that he did in fact speak French. He suspected she didn’t believe that he would be able to understand her language and could even speak it.
“Ah, but if you didn’t save Harry, he wouldn’t have been able to follow his destiny.” With that, she stood up and opened the door, seemed to have forgotten something and turned to smile at Draco. “Have a good night’s rest, Draco.”
Draco just nodded, looking at her in a way that was not like looks he regularly gave. It was neither calculating nor cold, nor was it warm. It was simply blank a look.
She closed the door behind her and Draco could hear her footsteps as she went off her merry way.
He smirked to himself, shaking his head. For some reason, this amused him. He hadn’t been expecting people to thank him, to give him a medal or a plaque or even just recognition for helping the saviour do his job, and he still wasn’t. But hearing two very attractive women (did he really just think that Ginny Weasley was attractive?) compliment him very truthfully made him feel… good. And it was not a very familiar feeling for him. Nonetheless, it made him snap his fingers so that he was suddenly lying on the bed with the comforter making its way to cover him.
With that, he closed his eyes.
OxOxOxOxO
Ginny was hesitating to open the door. She had been excited to see Harry again, hoping he had already been cleaned up by now and was resting. She was eager to run her hands over his and touch his cheek. But when she reached out to turn the knob, it felt as if suddenly something had pulled her elbow and her hand wasn’t able to open the door.She looked around her, but no one was there. Why was there a sense of foreboding when she tried to open the door? Was she afraid that he would ignore her again, like he had years ago when he had thought of her as just Ron’s little sister? That he wouldn’t even ask for her? That he would suddenly say that what he felt before was puppy love and he didn’t really love her? Or that he didn’t love her anymore?
Her hand was shaking, and she took a seat on the wooden chair next to the door. There were lines of chairs where patients were to wait for their turn. But now, it was empty. Healers or Mediwitches had been knocking on everyone’s door to see to it that everyone was all right. Most carried special watches with them, so that they could give potions to the patients at the proper time, and it really was a big responsibility, Ginny herself had one and she fiddled with it inside her pocket.
The door suddenly opened and Seamus Finnigan looked at her, blue eyes wide with surprise. “Ginny, came to see Harry?”
Ginny nodded her head, smiling nervously up at him; he gave her a thumbs-up and a winning smile (that even made Ginny blush a bit). He really was a looker. In a classic prince sort of way. He looked very much like Prince Phillip in Sleeping Beauty, the tall prince who was a bit on the naughty side, going out of the castle and walking with his horse on the forest where he found Aurora, Sleeping Beauty—who was obviously not yet asleep at that time.
He had blonde hair which was darker than Draco’s but still looked fine. He was broad and tall, perfect for being a Chaser and he was an all-around good guy. Lavender was very lucky.
“Ginny?” He frowned, waving his hand in front of her face, making her step back in surprise. “I said Harry will be all right. He even woke up for maybe about ten seconds an hour ago, asking where Malfoy is,” he said, eyebrows going up and down in a joking fashion. “Blimey, Harry might’ve changed his sexual preferences!”
Ginny laughed, truly laughed. She had never heard something as ridiculous as Seamus had suggested. Harry changing his sexual preferences? It wasn’t like that at all. Draco had saved Harry and it was natural for Harry to be looking for his—dare she think of it?—hero.
“That’s quite a theory, Seamus. Perhaps that explains why Malfoy was dragging him in here?” She raised an eyebrow at him, grinning. His mouth quirked to the side, amused.
“It just might,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Well, I have to go, Lav must be waiting for me now. I’ll tell her you said hi?” She smiled and nodded. He started walking away, leaving her standing at the doorway, still unable to go inside.
“Oh bollocks,” she muttered to herself and with her eyes closed, pushed the door open.
“Ginny!” Hermione’s voice was not hard to decipher. She threw her arms around her and patted Hermione’s back in return. “Harry’s going to be all right!”
Her heart seemed to have skipped a beat when Hermione had given her the good news. Of course, she was anticipating the best. This was Harry they were talking about. She couldn’t imagine losing him to death by war or by sickness. No, she pictured that Harry would grow old, happy and content with grandchildren to spoil and more wonderful things like that… with her.
It was a childish fantasy, but then again, it was not far to becoming a reality. Most girls could only imagine being close to Harry, but Ginny was lucky enough to have the opportunity to spend time with the hero.
“That’s so relieving to hear,” she sighed, looking over Hermione’s shoulder, over to where Harry was being cared for by Madam Pomfrey. Hermione smiled knowingly and Ron, who was sitting on a chair much like the one Ginny had sat on only moments ago, gestured to her to come closer with his hand.
She did, a bit hesitantly. She took her time to get closer to him. And when she did, what she saw took her breath away. This was how Harry Potter should always look like: his glasses were on the table on his other side, and there were no more gashes or wounds visible on his face for Madame Pomfrey had already cleaned him up. And he looked so… so peaceful.
Ginny had never seen him look so peaceful.
“There’s something tranquil about Harry now, don’t you think?” Ron whispered cheerfully. “With You-Know-Who gone and all, Harry has a reason to sleep well again.” Hermione chuckled a bit.
Ginny touched Harry’s forehead, brushing away the bangs covering it, just as she had been longing to do for a long while now, and saw that the thin lightning-shaped scar had not disappeared. She was not surprised. It wasn’t a battle scar; it was a mark of love: a symbol of Harry’s mother’s love for him that had kept him mostly safe.
“Did he break any of his bones? Does he have fractures?” Ginny asked Ron and Hermione quietly. Hermione shook her head.
“No, none at all, which is sort of surprising. I would have thought that going against Voldemort—oh shush Ron, we can say his name freely now!—he’d have more severe injuries than what he had.”
“But then again, he’s Harry. Staying alive is his specialty,” Ron said.
“I guess you’re right,” Ginny agreed, tracing Harry’s lids and cheekbones.
“But a while ago, the most perplexing thing happened, Ginny,” Hermione told her, frowning. Ginny looked at her, looking at her questioningly to go on. “He called for… Malfoy. He didn’t even call him Malfoy, but Draco. As if they were friends.”
“We have got to stop this last-name calling thing going on. I mean really, why don’t we just call the people by their first names like most people do? In other countries, it’s perfectly natural—” Ginny said, having already known what Hermione was talking about, yet just going off on the name-thing, but Hermione interrupted her.
“In China and Japan they call people by their last name,” Hermione pointed out. Ron rolled his eyes, and made a gesture with his hand to quietly tell Ginny to just stop the new topic.
“Well you see, Hermione, I was there when Malfoy brought Harry here,” Ginny confessed. Ron and Hermione’s eyes widened.
“You mean it was Draco Malfoy that brought him here?” Ron asked her, looking positively outraged.
“I thought it was Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas!” Hermione said, mostly to herself.
Ginny shook her head to disagree. “No, Neville opened the gates and we were all shocked when we saw Malfoy almost carrying Harry with Harry’s arm draped over his shoulders, saying that we should save Harry. Harry was unconscious; Seamus and Dean were quick to carry Harry here.” Ginny didn’t bother to give more detail, about how Draco was also wounded and half-naked. She didn’t think it was very relevant.
Hermione and Ron looked very surprised. And before she could say another word, the door opened and they all looked to see the Weasley family streaming inside. Charlie, Fred and George looked joyous behind their mother, who had her arms open, ready to embrace Harry (but she restrained herself when she saw Harry out cold) and her father looked so merry to know that Harry was all right and the battle had been won by the Order.
“Congratulations, Harry!” Bill said, an arm around Fleur, who looked beautiful smiling in her white dress, a red satin ribbon on her head.
Everyone put their index finger to their lips and made a hushing sound.
“Harry’s asleep, Bill dear,” Molly Weasley said, looking fondly at Harry.
“Ah,” said Bill. He didn’t say any more as they all gathered around Harry; Ron stood up from his chair and let Ginny occupy it as she held Harry’s hand in both of hers.
She was about to blurt out that Draco Malfoy had saved Harry, but thought it best to come from Harry himself. Perhaps Harry’s best friends thought in the same line as she did, for they didn’t speak.
Mrs. Weasley reached her hand to ruffle Harry’s jet-black hair. “Look how peaceful he is, Arthur,” she said, smiling fondly at the boy.
“Ah, he deserves it,” Arthur said benevolently.
“After what the boy’s gone through, and at such a tender age,” Molly said sadly.
“War picks no man, mum,” Bill said gravely. The wolfish hairs on his arms were gone, probably waxed off by Fleur, which seemed like a painful notion to Ginny.
“Or boy,” George added.
“Luckily, Harry here can take him on!” Fred added cheerfully and that made them all grin.
Yes, yes he can Ginny thought to herself, stroking Harry’s fingers with her own.
Ginny stayed the night in the makeshift infirmary beside Harry. Ron wasn’t allowed by his parents, for he was also needed to patrol through the city to look for war survivors and bring them here. Fred and George had opted to stay and rush people through the doors and into the infirmary if they needed to be healed—or if they could still be healed. Bill and Charlie had gone separate ways in search for Death Eaters to put into Azkaban. Basically, everyone was busy and Ginny had forced Hermione to sleep in her room.
“You’re sure?” Hermione asked, reluctant to leave Harry alone—not that she did not think Ginny capable of looking out for Harry, but Harry was sort of her brother—but her eyes were heavy from exhaustion and her movements were slow from it as well.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Ginny said, nodding. Hermione covered her mouth as a yawn escaped from it and she blinked.
“But tomorrow, you’ll have to get some sleep too, Ginny.” Ginny nodded and promised that she would.
OxOxOxOxO
Harry awoke without his eyes open. He couldn’t seem to be able to open them, but he could hear voices around him.“Oh shush, Ron! That’s positively rubbish!” he heard Hermione’s voice say near him.
“Well yes it is, but it is absolutely entertaining in times like this,” Ron said amiably. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh.
“Then entertain yourself quietly. This is an infirmary, people are resting,” Hermione hissed at him.
Harry’s body felt numb. He felt as if he was just inside his brain and his body was distant and really couldn’t be felt. He sighed and concentrated hard, and finally, he could feel his right fingers. The voices of people around him suddenly started speaking all at the same time. He could hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s voice as they gasped when they saw his fingers twitch. He could hear Fleur’s heavily accentuated voice suggest something, George and Fred’s voices were indistinguishable, but he knew they were both talking. He tried to open his eyes successfully. But his eyesight was blurry.
Of course it was, he realised; he wasn’t wearing glasses.
“Wew’mlasses?” he mumbled.
“Did you hear that, Arthur? Pass the boy his glasses!” Molly Weasley cried. He wasn’t sure how Mrs. Weasley was able to understand the utterly incoherent babble that came out of his mouth, but perhaps it was due to her many experiences being the mother of seven children.
“Ah yes dear. Here you go, Harry,” Arthur Weasley righted Harry’s glasses on his face and Harry blinked. Mrs. Weasley wasted no time in enveloping Harry with her embrace.
“Oh Harry! We’re so glad you’re safe!” Mrs. Weasley cried, hugging him, but all he could see was the top of her red-haired head.
“Oh Harry!” Hermione and Ron were waving to him; Hermione looked ready to embrace him also and Ron had already clapped his shoulder in a silent ‘well done, mate’. He tried to sit up, but was unable to do it alone, so Charlie and George hoisted him up, looking at him proudly. Of what they were proud of, he wasn’t sure.
It dawned upon him suddenly as he was jolted more awake. He could remember the shouts, the fire, the laughter and he remembered the feeling of his burnt right hand when he raised his wand to speak a curse that would end the wizarding world’s misery once and for all. He remembered his voice loud and clear, overpowering all of the voices around him as he shouted the curse.
Disappointingly, he couldn’t remember what it was.
He looked at his right hand, mildly surprised that it was bandaged.
“Madame Pomfrey bandaged it, Harry.” Hermione spoke softly, breaking into his reverie.
“Will I have a scar to bear?” he asked quietly.
The buzzing questions of the Weasleys and Hermione were halted so suddenly. They all looked at him in a manner that would suggest they felt equally proud and sorry for him. Mr Weasley looked uneasily at him, nodding his head as he lowered it.
“You will, Harry,” Mr Weasley said. “It was… inflicted by using a dangerous kind of magic, much like what happened to Dumbledore’s wand hand.”
Harry turned his hand, looking at his bandage-covered knuckles. His fingers, which he remembered had been soiled with dirt and grime, were now cut and clean.
“Good. I don’t want it to fade away. I want it to serve… as a memory.” He offered a small smile, but Fred and George looked at him weirdly. Hell, even Ron looked at him strangely. But Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, Bill and Fleur seemed to have understood. “A memory that finally, we’re free from the dangers of being under Voldemort’s influence or rule again…”
“A mark to show you survived,” Fred added quietly, finally realising what Harry had meant. Harry nodded.
He looked around, now realising someone was missing. His heart skipped a beat. Ginny.
Oh, how he’d longed for her while he was in battle. One of the reasons that he had stayed alive was the thought of her, the feeling he felt when he closed his eyes and saw her smiling at him. Like he could do anything; he could fly without wings just by the will of it, just by her smile… he was becoming a deranged romantic.
And Draco! He remembered Draco (for Draco insisted on being called by his first name) being tortured because of his allegiances. He remembered Draco telling him where to go, remembered Draco running towards him before his sight had totally darkened and he had fallen asleep…
“Where’s Ginny? Where’s Draco?” he demanded.
“Ginny stayed with you the whole night, till just a while ago,” Ron informed him.
“We wanted to let her rest, she’s been healing everyone who has been knocking on the door for two weeks now and she hasn’t got adequate sleep so we sent her to her room to sleep,” Hermione explained.
“What about Draco?” Harry raised his head so that he was eye to eye with Hermione. “Is he here? Is he alive?”
Ron’s parents gave him a strange look, but Ron nodded in affirmation. “Yep, the Slytherin Blondie survived.”
Harry looked instantly relieved, which aroused questions. “Why are you looking for Malfoy, mate?” George asked him.
“Yeah, and why are you calling him his first name?” Fred asked.
“Because mates,” he looked at them all before sighing, gulping to relieve himself of the nervousness and gratitude he felt as small flashbacks of hearing Draco tell him they were on the way to Grimmauld Place and feeling Draco adjust his arm on his shoulders hit him, “Draco Malfoy saved my life.”
OxOxOxOxO
The immense pain on Draco’s back awoke him. He arched his back but made no sound, breathing gingerly so that it wouldn’t sting so much. A minute later, after he heard quick footsteps in the hall, the door slammed open and a frantic Ginny Weasley rushed to his side, quickly waving her wand as she said the incantations in her mind.She started right away with cleaning Draco’s back, apologising profusely as she did so. Draco stopped her incoherent babble by saying, “All right, all right! Just do what you have to do.” He turned his back again so that Ginny could work thoroughly on it. For a long time, there was silence; Ginny didn’t speak until she was applying the quick-drying potion that would seal the other potions on Draco’s back.
“When I got to Harry yesterday, Ron and Hermione said that an hour before I visited Harry, he woke up and was asking for you,” Ginny said softly, blowing on Draco’s back to cool the potion quicker, sending sparks of something unbeknownst to Draco through his spine.
“How sweet. I didn’t know Potter and I were so close,” he said in his usual sarcastic manner of speaking.
“You did save his life,” she pointed out yet again.
“Let’s get past that, Ginny,” he sighed.
She smiled, evidently liking the way he said her name but quickly blushed when she seemed to realise what she was thinking was wrong. “But I’m not yet ready to give it up. It makes you uncomfortable doesn’t it?” she teased and he sighed again, too exhausted to really have a scathing remark.
“Why, oh why, are you dangling it in front of my face as if it’s some ball of yarn and I’m a cat, longing to pounce on it?” he asked her. “Do you really want me to be all: ‘Face it Harry, you owe me a lot for saving your insignificant life. Buy me a house with a garden. I want a slave girl at my beck and call. I want my own flying car, a Cadibrush, the latest model’ and other demands?”
“Harry’s life isn’t insignificant,” Ginny protested.
Draco wanted to hurl something against the wall, frustrated and curious at the same time. “Why do you always seem to stop hearing everything else when you encounter a word you don’t like?”
“It’s bad to interrupt, my mum says, so I let you finish,” she grinned, seeming to know perfectly well she was annoying Malfoy and that he was getting worked up.
“How very courteous of you,” Draco said sarcastically. “In a very Weasley manner I mean.” She rolled her eyes, not even snapping at Malfoy’s jab on her family. Draco reflected that it would’ve been a childish thing to do.
“Well, I’m done now, so I’m off,” she said, waving her wand hand once again to make all the potions disappear. “Remember, you can’t take a shower, unless you want to be subjected to immense pain.”
“Yes, I’ll keep it in mind,” he muttered, annoyed as hell for he felt so dirty. It was a good thing that Ginny had handed him clothes before she went away yesterday so he was able to clean himself and at least fit into boxers.
“Have fun in your sponge bath, Malfoy,” she told him sweetly, grinning. Malfoy sneered at her, having enough energy to do that at least. “By the way,” Ginny said, pausing as she opened the door out, her eyes openly questioning, “do you really want a slave girl at your beck and call?”
Draco smirked in a lazy, amused manner, “Of course I do. Any self-respecting straight guy does.”
With her question answered, Ginny rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her, but not before calling out, “I’ll be sure to tell Harry he owes you one.”
“I want one who’s pretty, tell him,” Draco called back.
OxOxOxOxO
“He what?” Arthur Weasley asked Harry Potter again, bewildered that this eighteen-year-old boy who looked weak from fighting for the cause and very pale, looked so resolute. His green eyes were strong and firm, showing what was really inside this fragile-looking boy who really wasn’t fragile at all. His jet black hair was even more ruffled than usual as he ran his hand through it, and his lips were cracked and almost white.Harry looked at him now without hesitance whatsoever and repeated it again, “Draco Malfoy saved me.”
“Tell us, Harry, how?” Molly Weasley prodded him gently.
“He led me towards the castle where Voldemort was staying.” He looked at them all, to see if they were all listening to his every word. “He said he knew this place by heart, for they owned it, the Malfoy Clan. His father, Lucius Malfoy offered it to Voldemort to compensate for what he had done. But he was not pleased, sent someone to kill Mr. Malfoy in Azkaban….
“When the Death Eaters found us, we fought for as long as we could. Separated from the others, we weren’t able to hold them off for long, and… and Snape came, leading us to his Lord’s lair. But I was released through Voldemort’s bidding, while someone masked was told to whip Malfoy. I don’t know how many lashes he got; he didn’t make a sound, not when they tortured him. He even made snide remarks, and another Death Eater punched him in the face. I was livid; we both were. And I tried to reach him, to save him, but Voldemort kept me in place. He asked for a duel. I was struggling to beat him - the year I didn’t attend Hogwarts, I trained, trained and trained so that when the time came for me to meet him we would be matched… but I wasn’t strong enough, it seemed. My wand was taken away from me once Voldemort shouted an incantation. He was above me…
“Draco shouted, kicked something towards me, and I looked down to see it was a wand: my wand. Maybe it was near him; I don’t know - but I quickly cursed Voldemort into oblivion.”
“Oh Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said in a sympathetic voice, stroking his arm. He smiled a little at the plump old woman who was a mother-figure to him.
“So that’s how he saved you, mate,” somebody said, but Harry wasn’t looking; he was still getting flashbacks from the inside of his lids and he closed them momentarily, reliving that time with such intensity he shook somewhat.
“That’s not all… when I was a bit unconscious, people were shouting… the resistance was there - Lupin was there - everyone was trying to take out the other, there were sparks flying from wands, but my vision was getting blurry. Even though Draco was tortured, even more so than I was, he… he tried to save me, I don’t know how he got away from being chained, though. He carried me towards here, when he could have left me for dead. Even in his state, he gave up his life to save me.”
There was silence as everyone processed this. They had never known, even when Draco Malfoy joined the Order, that he was capable of this. Sure, he was an invaluable person to the Order: it was expected; it was actually the only reason they let him in. There were times that he and Harry spited one another, but they would also laugh. The competition was still there, but it had become a friendlier one, as they became closer. It was not something that Malfoy actually acknowledged as friendship; it would be too awkward for him to do so, but it was.
“We… didn’t know he could do it,” Ron said quietly. “When Hermione and I reached the castle to back you up, we couldn’t find you. I think you were on another wing, and we were faced with werewolves. Lupin was there and he helped us out; we were like kids, scrambling about, getting some hits, but not all. The Felix Felicis we drank was very useful; thanks to Professor Slughorn sharing the recipe with us so Hermione could brew some. When they said you were in grave danger, Hermione and I separated from them all and fought our way to help you. But when we got there, Aurors and people from the Order were cleaning up. We thought…” Ron looked like he was on the verge of crying, so did Hermione. They hung on to each other for support. “We thought you died, mate.”
“We didn’t stop looking for you, Harry. We didn’t give up on you; we hoped someone would have saved you.”
“And someone did,” Harry said softly, quickly forgiving his friends for not physically being there with him. He didn’t want them to be, actually. They would also have been subjected to torture if they had been with him.
The two nodded. “Malfoy,” Hermione said.
OxOxOxOxO
Ginny looked around, trying to remember if there had been anyone she had forgotten to cure, but she knew that Draco Malfoy was the last on her list. Satisfied that she had done her part for that morning, she walked towards the infirmary where Harry was confined. Now without hesitance, she opened the door to find that every eye was on her. It was like a big, long bush of unlevelled red hair surrounding the bed, like a barrier so that one couldn’t see who they were visiting. Identical brown eyes were looking at her.“Er, hello everyone,” she said, smiling with uncertainty.
Then the red long bushed attacked her! Well, not really attacked. They all hugged her - even Fleur and Hermione were partaking in the hugging. There were many choruses of ‘we missed you!’ and they were all interrogating her in a babbling sort of way that made her head ache.
“Calm down, everyone,” she laughed. “I’m here to see Harry, where is he?” she asked, tiptoeing, but was blocked by the forms of Fred and George who grinned at her knowingly, making her blush.
“Just right there, Gin - waiting for you.” Fred winked, his head cocked to the side, indicating Harry.
They parted to let her walk towards Harry. Harry was looking at her, looking so relieved that she was all right. Her heart automatically warmed when she saw that he cared so much about her. Not many people outside of her family cared that much for her, to look as if he could find peace now that it was confirmed that she was all right.
Her eyes were watery with happiness and her smile was shaking. She walked timidly, not trusting herself to act with poise. She knew that if she walked quickly, she would be bawling, embracing Harry so tight. It would be very embarrassing.
“Ginny,” he breathed as she sat next to him, holding his hand in hers. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eye.
“Hello Harry,” she answered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, I was checking on—” she tried to explain, but Harry cut her off.
“You don’t have to explain. What matters is that now you’re here,” he told her so tenderly that she wanted to embrace him - so she did. She stood up and embraced him gently, so that he wouldn’t be crushed by her weight. He returned the hug, rubbing her back.
“I’m so glad you’re safe… when I saw Malfoy dragging you inside,” she gasped, trying desperately to fight the sob from escaping.
“Shush, don’t cry Ginny,” he comforted her, and she marvelled at how it felt to embrace Harry once again. She missed him so much, even more than she had thought, she realised.
After a while, she sat down again. The Weasleys, along with Fleur and Hermione, had smiled at them and left without a sound, but she was oblivious to it.
“How are you feeling, Harry?” she inquired, smiling.
“I feel much better now that you’re here,” he said, making her blush. “I thought I wouldn’t live through it, but here I am.”
“You’re meant to live, Harry. You’re meant to be happy. After all you’ve been through.” She closed her eyes, shook her head and smiled, squeezing Harry’s hand. “No one deserves to be happy more than you do.” There could be no adequate reply to that.
“Where’s Draco?”
She had expected him to ask her that. “He’s safe, he’s in his room. I asked a Healer to bring him breakfast while I was walking towards the infirmary.”
“So he’s safe?”
She nodded. “Yes, but the wounds on his back have yet to heal. They’re quite severe and not very easy to heal,” she informed him. She saw emotion flash through his eyes but it quickly disappeared.
“He saved me.”
She nodded again. She knew that; she knew the sacrifice Malfoy had made for Harry. Why he would have done that, she wasn’t sure.
But he wasn’t boasting about it.
“I know… he wouldn’t admit it though,” she chuckled softly.
“He’s like that, I suppose. Unless it’s a small thing - he won’t really flaunt something like that,” Harry said, not looking at Ginny, but seeming to be lost in his own reverie.
“Yes, he wouldn’t take credit for it.”
“You talked to him?” Harry asked, surprised and curious.
“Yes, I was the one who healed him,” she admitted, finding nothing wrong with that.
Harry sighed and smiled. “I’m happy. At least I know he was taken care of by the best hands possible. I’m kind of jealous though, why didn’t you take care for me?” He pouted teasingly.
Ginny laughed, running her hand through her long straight red hair that curled slightly down the back. “Oh, poor baby.” She kissed his cheek. “Because I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle seeing you look so… injured… I wanted someone with more experience to take care of you. So that I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His hand found its way out of her hands and onto her cheek. “I didn’t want to inflict more pain than you already have undergone.”
“You should trust yourself more, Ginny. You should know you won’t hurt me,” he said. Ginny felt a rush at the knowledge that Harry had so much faith in her.
“Thanks Harry,” Ginny said, appreciating Harry’s trust in her.
“So, when do you think I’ll be able to get out of here?”
“Maybe when you’re properly healed, you don’t have a lot of wounds anymore. As a matter of fact, the only thing left is your right hand,” she said, indicating his other hand.
“Doesn’t Madam Pomfrey have a quick-drying potion for this?”
Ginny shook her head. “Sometimes you have to wait for it to heal, Harry. Not everything can be answered or cured by magic. Take the heart for example.” Harry gave her an odd look. “Not that I’m heart broken or anything, just giving an example.”
“You’re right. Can Draco walk?”
“Yes, he can. But his back aches most of the time; he still needs to heal. But I think he’s getting better. He’s already annoying me,” she told him.
“It’s Malfoy we’re talking about. Even in the most dangerous positions, he doesn’t stop. I was telling your family just a while ago, along with Hermione and Fleur, how he was insulting a Death Eater while he was whipping him so another one punched him in the face.”
“Still… Yesterday, he was kind of submissive. I think he’s just trying to act normal. Can’t blame him though; after what he has been through, he has the right to act funny as long as he wants.” She poked Harry in the arm playfully. “You can too, you know.”
After a while, Harry’s eyes seem to be falling once again while Ginny was conversing with him. It seemed hard for him to keep his eyes open and more than once Ginny saw him struggling not to yawn. Ginny knew he was still very exhausted. It was really a miracle that a person in his condition would be awake already; it should have taken him days. Ginny put a hand on his forehead and he covered a yawn that escaped with his uninjured hand.
“You need to rest. I’ll check up on you later,” Ginny said, helping Harry slide down to his bed and pulling the blanket put over him. She smoothed out the wrinkles as she tucked him in comfortably and took off his glasses, placing them on the table. “When you feel the vase while trying to find your glasses, they’re just below it, okay?” Harry nodded in response. “I’m going to check up on my other patients. I’ll ask Hermione and Ron to look over you while I’m gone.”
She turned to go, but Harry quickly grasped her hand with his quick Seeker instincts. “I’ll sleep alone, please don’t bother them anymore. I want to be alone for a while anyway.” She was about to argue when Harry closed his eyes, looking dizzy. He cut her off. “Also, please check on Draco for me… I owe him.”
“I’ll check up on him,” she promised him and he let her wrist go. “Hermione and Ron will come themselves, whether I tell them to or not, you know that. I’ll just tell them to be quiet.” She kissed his forehead and he relaxed instantly. “Rest well, Harry.”
But Harry was already asleep. She smiled and walked lightly towards the door. She opened it gingerly to find Hermione and Ron sitting on the chairs, having a whispered conversation which they stopped instantly when the door opened. They stood up abruptly.
“Harry’s all right?” Ron asked.
“He’s fine, but he’s still tired. He’s sleeping now so make as little noise as you can, please,” she told them. She looked at the time. It was almost twelve and she needed to get a move on so that she could give potions or apply them onto her patients. She had been assigned twenty, but it wasn’t as tiring as it sounded. Most of them were nice and she loved the little kids she had got to know while patrolling and healing those kids’ relatives. Also, she promised Harry that she would check up on Draco and she would, too.
OxOxOxOxO
Draco felt hungry. He turned to his bedside table for his wand, Summoned a glass of water and waved his hand for a mental incantation for water. He drank all of it and patted his mouth dry with a tissue. His back wasn’t hurting - in fact, it didn’t feel at all. It was numb and he didn’t know if he really liked it that way. Well, he thought to himself, better than itchy.There was a knock on the door and he called out so that the person could open it. Ginny’s familiar red head popped in.
“How polite of you to remember to knock, Weasley,” he said sarcastically. You didn’t need coldness for this one. No, all you needed was sarcasm and she’d get all fired up.
“Oh please. The reason why I didn’t knock this morning is because I was hurrying to apply potions on your back. I didn’t forget my manners,” Ginny informed him, rolling her eyes as she did so. Her voice was nonchalant and there was a serene smile on her face that made her look angelic despite her shot back to Malfoy. At an angle, Draco told himself. Not entirely angelic.
Yes, force yourself to believe that.
“If it makes you feel better to tell yourself that, then go ahead.” He had his eyebrow raised, but his expression was unreadable. She walked to his back and he sat up so that it wouldn’t be difficult to clean his back if necessary. “So did you tell him?”
“Tell him what?” Ginny frowned. She didn’t remember Malfoy asking her to tell Harry anything.
“My slave girl,” he reminded her. “You love-struck people are so forgetful,” he accused, but in a non-accusatory tone.
She laughed. “I thought you were joking!”
“Never mind. I’ll tell him myself,” he smirked.
She checked his back, rubbing on a spot where there were no wounds but there were potions smeared on. The potion was dry, and she knew that it take a while before she’d have to put more potions on his back.
“Let’s see, I finished putting potions on your back around nine, right? So I’ll have to put more on your back seven p.m. And next morning I have to wake you up to apply it five o’clock.”
“But that’s so early!”
“Well, you want to heal, don’t you?”
He grumbled but didn’t say anything. Ginny smiled. She was still in high spirits for she’d seen Harry now and she was happy that he was okay.
“I’ll bring you food,” she called over her back and shut the door.
OxOxOxOxO
She went down the stairs into the kitchen. They were lucky that many of the Healers and people from the Order and others who were staying here for a while had brought their house-elves with them. Some helped in healing, some in keeping Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place clean, and most prepared food. When Ginny entered the kitchen, she took a step back and emitted a soft squeal of delight when she found herself suddenly surrounded by dozens of house-elves. She was often here because she brought food to her patients and she had learned to make friends with these uncomplicated beings.“Does Miss Ginny likes cake?” “Does Miss Ginny likes Butterbeer?” So on and so forth; they attacked her with questions, until all she could hear were high-pitched little squealing voices. She told them loudly to stop and there was silence.
“So, what are we having today?” she grinned. The house elves quickly prepared lunch. Roast chicken with mashes and peas with carrots were presented to her quickly, the aroma so wonderful that she had to stop herself from drooling. They had a glass of Butterbeer and another for water. There was a lot of food, ranging from appetisers to desserts. This always happened; she wasn’t surprised at all. And she didn’t even have to tell them to pack it in a magical basket where everything fit perfectly without ever spilling or touching another: they did it themselves. They handed her a blue basket filled with food. She thanked them and bid them goodbye, carrying the basket in her left hand.
She knocked again on Draco’s room and was surprised when he opened it personally. He looked bored but he eyed the picnic basket nevertheless. “I hope you didn’t bring sick food,” was his only statement.
“You’re not sick,” she told him.
“Which is why I don’t want sick food,” he drawled but peered at the basket she brought. She arranged his food on two coffee tables and when she was done, she stood up straight and snapped her fingers so that the candles would glow brighter.
“Enjoy,” she said.
“Wait.” Malfoy stopped her in her tracks with his call. She shot him a questioning glance. “Eat with me.” His eyes bore no coldness, no anger, none of that angst he’d been carrying like a second skin since he got here a few hours back. She reluctantly glanced towards the door and to Malfoy who looked incredible—er, incredibly vulnerable—in his plain green shirt (which was owned by George who had worn it one time for Christmas just to spite Slytherin house, if she wasn’t mistaken) and boxers, that her heart instantly softened. “I can’t finish this alone, and with your stomach, Weasley, I bet you can eat this whole.” He smirked, causing her to turn crimson red. Argh! She wanted to hex Malfoy into oblivion, but refrained from doing so. Just as she was thinking he was sweet.
“Haha, Malfoy. If you’re going to ask a person to eat with you, you should remember not to insult them,” she snapped, crossing her arms just below her chest. She looked so angry and it infuriated her even more to see that he just smirked. Ginny saw his mouth twitch upwards and her heart thumped so fast inside her ribcage that she mistook it for livid rage. “You just can’t stop annoying me, can you?”
“You’re right. I… apologise. Please join me in eating this feast.” He gestured towards the spread of food put on top of the two joined coffee tables. He said it so formally that she suddenly remembered that he had grown up with a silver spoon on his tongue and a fork stuck up his… “I’m kidding. You look so insecure. Your stomach isn’t big, Ginny.”
“You’re just saying that,” she snapped at him, thumping the one-inch heel of her leather loafer on the ground.
“I don’t want to eat alone,” he confessed. He didn’t say anything more and Ginny knew that she wouldn’t be getting anymore from him. He shared enough, she thought to herself, so she accepted his apology and sat opposite him, her hands on her lap. Good thing the elves had over packed. There were four pairs of spoons and forks inside the basket and Ginny handed one pair to Malfoy.
“Well what are you waiting for, Ginny? If there’s one of us who should be afraid of being poisoned, it should be me, not you. Did you really poison this?” He raised his eyebrow at her.
“Of course I didn’t! I wouldn’t be sitting opposite you if I did. Besides, the house-elves prepared that,” she sniffed, indignant.
“Well then, let’s eat.” He had impeccable table manners, she soon found out. He didn’t slurp when he ate his soup, spooned it away from him and sipped it at the side of his spoon. He made no noise as he ate; there was no sound of his fork and spoon clinking on his plate to be heard. He ate neatly and chewed with his mouth closed. Ginny felt ashamed of herself whenever her spoon or fork clinked on her plate and when a drop dribbled down her chin when she drank.
She would look nervously at Malfoy to see if he would insult her, but he didn’t even raise his eyes to hers. He seemed oblivious to the clinks she made or perhaps he just chose to ignore it. The dessert was chocolate mousse with strawberries inside the creamy mousse. She mentally bonked her head for not looking at what she had packed. It was hard to eat this without getting mousse on your teeth.
“It seems as though you are strategising on how to partake in your cake,” Draco commented, finally looking at her. Probably he had noticed that she had stopped making clinking noises. She bit her lip, raising her fork and sinking it into the cake, taking a small chunk. Draco immediately seemed to realise the problem. She looked up at him nervously, but he didn’t look teasing at all. He just blinked and raised his own fork, took a chunk of his own cake and put it inside his mouth, chewing with his mouth closed and when he was done, he flashed Ginny a toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. There was neither a smudge of red from the strawberry nor brown from the mousse.
“The trick is to let it slide until it’s in the back of your front teeth and you scrape it without using your lips if you can,” he shared. Ginny pushed her red locks to the back of her ear and opened her mouth, following Draco’s instructions. She pulled a small mirror from her pocket and looked at her teeth. There wasn’t a trace of the cake. She looked at Malfoy who was scrutinising her as a teacher would do to his student. She blushed and looked away.
“Thanks for the tip,” she said. He shrugged his shoulders, showing his self-confidence. He had poise; it even showed when he was shrugging his shoulders! He was well-bred, but that thought hadn’t really crossed her mind. What usually came into her head was that he was so stuck-up. She just couldn’t get past it. Or the fact that Harry owed him his life.
“I’m surprised you don’t know that trick. I learned it when I was nine,” he said, truly astonished.
“From your mum?” she asked, taking another bite.
“No, from my tutor.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You had a table manners tutor?”
“I had an etiquette teacher,” he corrected her. This didn’t seem to be strange to him. Maybe all of the Slytherin students had one. Perhaps they even shared tips in the common room when they were particularly bored. Even Crabbe and Goyle might have had one. But she personally thought what they should really have had was a sitter.
“Well, we couldn’t afford a tutor,” she said, not at all ashamed of growing up not well-to-do. “My father isn’t exactly the Minister.”
Of course he wasn’t. The Minister’s job was a far cry from her father’s profession. The name of Arthur Weasley would not even cross the minds of those who appointed the Minister. Imagine collecting Muggle stuff presently then suddenly being forced to run the whole of wizarding England. He wouldn’t be able to handle it, no matter how kind-hearted he was.
“Can I ask you something, Ginny?” Malfoy said softly.
Ginny nodded her head and when she had swallowed, she spoke. “Sure, Malfoy.”
“It’s Draco.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Of course it’s not Weasley, it’s my name. I’m telling you to call me by my name.”
“Oh.” She blushed. “Okay. What’s your question, Draco?” It felt kind of foreign on her tongue but at the same time, it felt right.
“Are you happy?” he asked softly.
What an odd thing to ask, Ginny thought to herself, pondering the question. Draco waited for her answer patiently. His grey eyes had just the tiniest tint of green blue and it reminded her of the sea. Maybe it reflected the colour of the room and the basket she had put onto the table when she had packed up the utensils they have used; she wasn’t sure.
“What do you mean happy?” Ginny asked, confused.
“I mean, even though you’re not in any means well off,” in here he got a dirty look from Ginny and he raised his palms as a signal that he would like to explain, “and that you have many brothers you have to share with and no doubt you get passed many hand-me-downs, you still have the ability to laugh, to smile… to do the things regular people do. And some – most of us—who are not by any means poor, aren’t able to.” When he said ‘us’, Ginny didn’t know who he meant. Did he mean the other Slytherin students or something else? She wasn’t sure. But the answer to his question came to her in an instant, as if it was truly natural.
“You don’t have to own the world to be happy, Draco.” She smiled as she continued, knowing in herself that her answer was heartfelt. “You just have to learn how to love.”
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