Nine: Release
After their almost-escape, Ginny began to see a strange contentment in Malfoy. He smiled for apparently no reason sometimes, wore soft expressions on his face while staring out the window, and appeared to be happy when a Healer came in the room. When they talked, he was liberal with his laughter, and there was still an edge to their conversations that often made Ginny want to grin and blush.
It didn’t occur to her until days after their not-so-triumphant return to St. Mungo’s that the Draco Malfoy who laughed and smiled and behaved like a normal person (though not a normal Malfoy—and that was the bizarre part, wasn’t it?) was one who no longer used Occlumency. His face seemed soft because he didn’t hold it in a sterile, harsh expression. He no longer seemed to worry about revealing his thoughts or emotions.
She worried that he was breaking; maybe St. Mungo’s had finally cracked through his facade. What if the next step was madness? Ginny had already toed that ledge, and she knew what a steep drop it was. If he hadn’t been there to pull her back—no, that was wrong. If he hadn’t been there to tell her she had the strength to pull herself back, she would have fallen completely into madness. But how could she be the support he needed when she’d needed his support only a month ago? Who would pull Malfoy back from the ledge, and who would keep her from toppling over with him?
A Healer came in with their potions, which gave Ginny another opportunity to analyze him in the presence of the enemy. Gone were the days of silent hostility. Now he just seemed to accept their treatment, even going so far as to chat with Healer Unger in a pleasant fashion!
Then it dawned on Ginny. That was exactly what all of this was: acceptance. He had accepted his fate and succumbed to the will of the Healers.
"So you've given up, is that it?" Ginny asked after Healer Unger left.
"What are you talking about?" he asked as he sat on the edge of his bed staring out the window.
Ginny moved to stand in front of him so she could talk to his face instead of his back. Her hands were on her hips and her lips were turned down in a disapproving frown.
"You don't want to escape anymore, do you?"
Malfoy also frowned but he didn't deny it.
"I was like that, too, Malfoy. I thought this was the safest place for me, but you were the one who told me I was foolish. You're hiding from your problems, just like I was."
"Your problems!" he spat in disgust. "Your problems extend to your family and Potter. That's a total of what? Ten people?" He lifted his arm, gesturing aggressively to the window. "There are people out there who killed my father because it suited them better than his given punishment. It's not safe out there for people like me!"
Ginny sneered at that logic. Sneered at him. "My problems don't have anything to do with my parents or Harry; they're internal. You told me that, remember? Well, I'm telling you that that shite you just gave me is exactly that: shite. Malfoy, if the people who went after your father wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. He was in Ministry custody, and you're free."
"There are spells and gates protecting the manor. No one could get through our defenses."
"What about your job? What about Tybalt Tilly, Gloriana Borin, and Harris Beckenridge? You managed to leave your fancy mansion and make connections with them, and you're still here. None of them have killed you."
"It's not like that, Weasley!"
"I know what it's like! Your paranoia is a prison just as much as the walls of St. Mungo's are. You can't live like that, and you can't live in here. We're not mad. We're sane, and we deserve to be free. You haven't done anything wrong, so why should your father's murderer try to murder you?"
He went silent, his expression turning uncertain. She dropped her arms and sat down next to him, sighing.
"You're right," he said with confidence.
"Of course I am."
She was pleased to see him roll his eyes, and she didn't care if it was unMalfoy-like and inelegant. It was human. She'd forgotten over the years—and she suspected other people had as well—that the Malfoys were just human. Flawed like anyone else, capable of making bad decisions, but deserving of forgiveness and redemption.
"I didn't do anything wrong. I did what I had to do. But the world is filled with unreasonable people."
"And you're one of them," she said with a teasing smile as she nudged him with an elbow.
Suddenly, his body froze, and she wondered if she'd gone too far by touching him while he was on the ledge. Had she pushed him over?
"I remember," he said.
"Remember what?"
"What I was doing before I ended up here."
Ginny's own body tensed, but she became more attentive, sitting up straighter and turning towards him more.
Malfoy looked confused. "I was in Diagon Alley for the first time in years. I'd stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for a drink with... someone. I can't remember who it was. Afterward, we stepped outside and I saw.... I don't know. Something. That's all I remember."
"That's good, though! Maybe the rest will come back to you."
"Maybe you will remember something, too," he said, and Ginny had to smile at his optimism while restraining her own.
"Yes, maybe I will." But she didn't believe it.
.
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Their talk didn't seem to improve Malfoy's disposition. When Harry had proposed to her five months ago, she never would have believed that in less than half a year her relationship would be over, she'd have a schoolgirl crush on Draco Malfoy, or that she'd wish he'd stop smiling so much. She'd never been able to conceive of him smiling at all. Every mental image she had of him, even in memory, was of him smirking like an arrogant prick, though she knew that hadn't been the only expression he'd been capable of making. He'd had quite the temper back at school, after all.
Malfoy continued to be accepting of his situation, and it grated on Ginny's nerves. She had an itch to be free that sometimes felt like a full-body rash, and Malfoy was a rainy day on her goals. Now she knew what it must have felt like for him to endure her during her descent into madness. Sometimes, she wanted to punch him in the face until he went back to normal. Whatever normal was.
Another week passed, and even if Ginny brought up the subject of escape, Malfoy wouldn't entertain it. It was almost a relief, though, because the planning and hope for escape were exhausting, and Ginny didn't have the strength to do it alone. Neither the actual escape, nor the planning of one. Instead, she learned to avoid the topic altogether, which removed the awkward strain of conversation about Malfoy's willingness to stay locked up in the hospital. Which was better for everyone because then Ginny didn't have any violent tendencies.
There was something kind of peaceful about acceptance this time around. Now she knew who she was and what she'd done, and she didn't need anyone else's support or approval. As long as she remembered to rely on herself, her incarceration was boring but pleasant.
The comfortable atmosphere that had developed since their failed escape shattered one evening three weeks after it, a total of four months and some change since Ginny had woken up in St. Mungo's. A couple hours after their dinner trays had been picked up, Healer Gibby entered the ward blubbering while Healer-in-Charge Meriadoc Goldberry followed behind. Healer Goldberry saw to the patients in the Janus Thickey Ward twice a month to see if their medications needed altering, but his face wasn't nearly as familiar as the other Healers who cared for Ginny and Malfoy everyday. To see Goldberry so soon after his last visit—and especially after dinner when no one usually bothered them—was a surprise.
Both Malfoy and Ginny sat up straighter in the armchairs where they'd been building a house out of regular Muggle playing cards, watching warily as the tearful Gibby and the stern-faced Goldberry descended upon them.
"Miss Weasley," the Healer-in-Charge called, looking over his eyeglasses at his clipboard.
"Yes?" Ginny said, somewhat stunned. In the entirety of her stay at St. Mungo's, she had never been called by her name. Only Malfoy had done that, and to hear it from someone other than a sarcastic, paranoid, emotionally-stunted man was a shock to the system. A tiny, foolish part of her had hoped for the past months that she had been wrongfully hospitalized, but hearing her name from a Healer's lips for the first times said, We know who you are, and we don't care. You still belong here.
"You are being released. Your family will be here to pick you up in the morning."
Ginny's mouth dropped open, and her mind went completely blank. She stared at Healer Goldberry as he flipped through some pages attached to the clipboard, but when he returned her gaze, she found her voice. "W-what?"
"We've observed some improvement, so we're letting you go."
"But what kind of improvement? How have I improved?" At the same time, Malfoy asked, "What about me?"
Goldberry looked at the clipboard again. "No, just Miss Weasley. Maybe next time, Mr. Malfoy."
"What next time?" he demanded at the same time that Ginny asked, "Why am I being released and he's not?"
Both of their questions went ignored. Healer Gibby cried, "It's such good news, isn't it? I always knew kindness was the best treatment!" Then she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her lime-green robe.
"You're leaving at 7 AM sharp, Miss Weasley, so I hope you get plenty of rest before then."
The Healers left, leaving the two patients dumbfounded. Ginny's mouth had fallen open again, disbelief coursing through her whole body, impeding any feelings of joy or relief. She turned to Malfoy and discovered a different emotion. Fear. His fear. There was a panicked look on his face—a subtle expression, really, but there nonetheless. The reflection of the moonlight in his eyes highlighted the emotion he seemed incapable of hiding.
When Ginny reached for his hand, he gave it to her willingly, meeting her halfway. Ginny didn't know what to say. Maybe words weren't needed. Maybe they would only push the stake further into Malfoy's heart, a painful reminder that she was free and he was stuck here. But that was what he wanted, right? He'd come to accept his life at St. Mungo's; there shouldn't be any hard feelings because she was getting the escape she desired.
It took several moments for him to regain his composure and remove any hint of his fear. "Congratulations," he said. Even though the mask was firmly back in place, his words were sincere.
"Thanks," Ginny replied in an exhale. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath, but suddenly the dizzy sensation made sense.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked, turning his head away.
She rubbed her thumb back and forth over the skin of his hand, but he didn't look at her. "I don't know. I need to train for the season opener. I bet I'm not first-string anymore."
"What about your family?"
She'd spent hours within each day dreaming about her life outside of St. Mungo's, so she knew exactly what she would do about her family. "They just want to forget about the war, and I don't blame them. I wish I could have put it behind me years ago. So that's what I'm going to do. I'm going to move on, and I'm going to let my family move on."
"Even though they were wrong?"
"People make mistakes. I think their lack of support is going to sting for a long time, but I can't live with the bitterness anymore. I'm making the choice to put it behind me because it hurts too much to hold onto it."
His hand squeezed hers gently, and then she felt his thumb stroking her hand.
"I wouldn't be where I am now without you," she whispered, her gaze piercing the side of his face. She saw his lips twitch up into a smirk, and then his head turned back. She held her breath for what he'd say, and prepared herself to memorize his eyes because she didn't know if she'd ever see their mercurial depths again.
But he didn't say anything, and his eyes latched onto their clasped hands instead of her face. The silence stretched until it tangled and felt awkward in the air between them. Ginny desperately wanted to bat away the web, close the distance between them, have more than just their hands touching. When would she get the chance again?
Perched on the edge of her chair, she leaned forward more, her hand gliding up to his wrist. He watched the path she wrought with intense concentration, his face otherwise expressionless, and she watched him the same way. She knew her face was blank; she'd somehow mastered that skill during her hospitalization, but everything she felt was in her eyes, if only he'd look up and see.
Instead, he withdrew from her, his hand sliding out of her grasp like moonlight sliding through a room. When he stood up, he took Ginny's breath with him, and his eyes never met hers, so he didn't see the tears that threatened to spill.
"I'm exhausted, and you've got a big day tomorrow," he said, his voice hollow, but not as hollow as Ginny's body.
She nodded, though of course he couldn't see it, and as he climbed into his bed, she remained in the chair, her head turned toward the window just in case he looked her way and saw an errant tear fall. With a gentle nudge, she knocked down their half-constructed card house, and the sound of the collapse was viscerally satisfying. Half an hour later, he rolled over when she returned to her bed, and that made her angry. He wanted to avoid her? Fine! Two could play at that game. If he couldn't speak to or look at her, then she wouldn't bother to say goodbye to him in the morning.
She tossed and turned for over an hour, her emotions boiling inside her without an escape. It was just starting to sink in that she would see her family in the morning, that she was leaving this hell hole, and the anticipation made her heart flutter too fast to relax. Returning to her normal practice, she cleared her mind and imagined what the reunion would be like: the tears on both of her parents' faces when they saw her for the first time in over four months; the warm, comforting hugs she would receive from all her brothers; Malfoy on his knees begging her not to leave him.... Yeah, he would miss her way more than she would miss him.
After that, it didn't take long for her heart to settle down, her thoughts to still, and her body to drift off into sleep.
.
.
Waking was harder than falling asleep. When Ginny managed to get her eyes to open, her vision was blurry, and then her lids fell closed, as if the weight of them was more than she could manage. By the time her eyes stayed open and focused, she began to feel the rest of her body. Like a brick, she laid in bed, her limbs too heavy to lift on their own. She tried. Every attempt to lift herself onto her elbows failed.
Someone entered the ward, the clack-clack-clack identifying Healer Unger.
"Oh!" she said, shocked.
Ginny turned her head, but the woman approaching Ginny's bed was most certainly not Healer Unger. In fact, she was no one Ginny had ever met before. The woman had long, strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a severe ponytail and a plump frame. The eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were shocked, but stern, and the wrinkles around her lips suggested someone not prone to smiling.
"You shouldn't try to move. You're weak!" she said, and the voice... the voice was definitely Unger's.
Ginny stopped struggling out of sheer confusion. "Who are you?" she asked, but her voice was so hoarse, the sound that came out was rattling and hollow, like the sound Dementors make. She tried to cough to clear her throat, but she was so weak, she couldn't even manage that.
"Please, Miss Weasley, stop moving. My name is Healer Unger. I'm one of the Healers who has been caring for you during your stay." She said all this while waving her wand around Ginny's body, shining a light into her eyes, poking and prodding, just like they'd done when Ginny had first become conscious months ago.
"You're. Not. Ung," Ginny said, pausing in between each word.
"You are going to wear yourself out. Do you want me to sedate you?"
Instead of replying, Ginny shook her head, remembering what it had felt like to be drugged for two days and not wanting to reenact those early days in the hospital.
The door opened again and another Healer entered. As Ginny studied this woman (short gray hair cut in an asymmetrical bob, stick thin, wrinkled face, red lipstick), she noticed that the distance between her bed and the door was wrong. She turned her head in the other direction, but the two beds closest to the window—the beds she and Malfoy had slept in for four whole months—were hidden behind drawn curtains. However, Malfoy was still sleeping in the bed next to hers, though he looked odd. She couldn't figure out why.
The new Healer reached Imposter-Unger's side and gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Tears pooled in her eyes, and in Healer Gibby's voice, she cried, "She's awake!"
"Yes, Gibby, she is. Would you please let reception know to contact her family?"
"Oh, my dear," Imposter-Gibby said as she stroked Ginny's forehead, "your family is going to be so relieved! Not a day has passed that someone hasn't—"
"Now, Gibby!" Unger prompted.
"Oh, right! I'm sorry. I'll be right back, dear. Don't move!"
As she rushed out the door, Ginny said, "That's Gibby?" This time her voice came out stronger. It was even almost intelligible.
"Yes, Healer Gibby. She's a little... sensitive."
Ginny was content to let Unger continue with her inspection as she tried to reconcile the short, heavyset woman with curly gray hair she knew as Healer Unger with this version of her. Maybe this was her daughter? And Healer Gibby should have been a middle-aged, maternal woman with brown hair. The Healer Gibby who'd just left the room had her voice and maternal instincts—including her propensity to cry at the drop of a hat—but she wasn't the woman Ginny knew.
She looked at Malfoy again, wondering when he was going to wake up and if she'd get the chance to say goodbye—forget the vow she'd made yesterday! She couldn't leave this place without saying goodbye to him, not after everything they'd been through together. Then she realized what was so strange about him. He was lying on his back, his bed sheets pulled neatly up to his shoulders. That wasn't the way he usually slept. He usually snuggled down into the bed, burrowing underneath the sheets until only his forehead was visible.
Turning back to the Healer, who was now pouring a glass of water, Ginny asked, "My family's coming?"
"Yes, they should be here soon." Then the woman put a hand behind Ginny's head and helped her take a drink of the water. "I'm going to help you sit up, and then I'm going to go find something suitable for your breakfast." Well, at least Unger's matter-of-fact care hadn't changed, even if her appearance had.
The bed was tilted at an angle to allow Ginny to sit up with support, and then she was left alone. She took the opportunity to take in her surroundings, noting an extra patient lying in one of the beds across from her... and was that Gilderoy Lockhart reading a book about himself in another bed? If so, he was awfully quiet—much less sociable than he’d been ten years ago. None of this made any sense.
The door slammed open as her parents rushed inside, their eyes wide with worry and tears already falling down their faces. As soon as Ginny saw them, the stress and worry of the last four months, the distress and loneliness she’d felt during her hospitalization, and the shock of waking up in a semi-unfamiliar environment all filled her to the brim, and she started sobbing. Her mum was the first person to reach her bedside, and the feel of her comforting arms pulling Ginny to her chest was more than she could bear. Her dad wrapped one arm around Ginny’s shoulder, and the other around her mother’s, and together they hugged and cried.
Months ago she’d thought that if her parents would only come to visit, everything would be okay. They’d sort things out and she’d get to go home, or, if that wasn’t possible, just seeing them would get her through the days and weeks ahead of her. And now they were here and she was going to be released, but even more than that, she was relieved. The thought that no one cared about her had crossed her mind more than a few times, both when she’d been on the brink of madness and when she’d known herself.
Finally, they all let go of each other, and the Healers conjured chairs for her parents to sit in before leaving the room. Ginny was too weak to wipe the tears off her face, but her mum pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and cleaned her up. The whole time, her dad held one of her hands, and occasionally rubbed her arm, reminding her how much she had missed human contact in the last four months.
“What happened?” she asked, and this time the sound that came out actually formed the shape of words.
In a soft voice, her mum said, “There was an accident. Well, it wasn’t an accident. More like an attack.”
“Where?” Ginny croaked.
“Diagon Alley. A woman went mad or something and started attacking people. A spell went astray and the front wall of the apothecary collapsed. Healers found you in the rubble, but they weren’t sure if you were hit with a spell or just injured when the building exploded.” Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth but she couldn’t hold back her gasping sob. “They’re still not sure. Your body healed months ago, but you’ve been unconscious for the last four months.”
Ginny had to do a mental double-take at that. Had she heard wrong? Surely she'd heard wrong. When she looked at Mr. Weasley, he only shook his head and patted the top of her hand, his lips trembling.
“Like... a coma?” she asked, trying to understand.
“Yes, sweetheart,” her father answered, and if he said it was true, then it had to be.
“But... what about Malfoy?”
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a confused look. “Well,” Mrs. Weasley said, “he was found on top of you. From what I understand, he was hit with a spell, but he’s also been unconscious since he was admitted. Oh, Ginny, we weren’t sure if you would ever wake up!”
Ginny was pulled into another hug, but her mind had gone elsewhere, even though her weak body did its best to respond to her parents love. She couldn’t process any of this information. Nothing was making sense. How could she have been unconscious? She had four months of memories in the Janus Thickey Ward. Four months of monotony, two attempted escapes, countless potions, and more bad hospital food than she could bear to think about.
Tears spilled again and she sobbed even harder, this time at the thought that those four months hadn’t been real. She’d dreamed them all up in her comatose state, which meant that she and Malfoy weren’t allies. The crush she’d developed, the one that still pumped through her veins, was based on a fantasy of interactions with Draco Malfoy.
When the real Draco Malfoy woke up—if he woke up—he would know her as Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend and a first-string Chaser for Puddlemere United. He wouldn’t know her. Not how he’d come to know her in the last four months. Even though the Draco she knew wasn’t real, she still regretted never touching him the way she’d wanted to or telling him how she’d felt. She never even got the chance to say goodbye.
The man who had done so much for her sanity had been a figment of her own imagination.
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