Chapter 8: Rescued
She’d been warned that the pain would return often, and had been given a supply of potion to combat the stabbing ache that stretched from her ribs to her hipbone. It very rarely worked, and one could only assume that it was because her wounds were inflicted by a mythical sword with unknown magical powers. Not that many were privy to the nature of the weapon that had wounded her, of course, but those who did know were in agreement with the grim assessment that the wound may never heal completely.
After Darien had left her apartment in a silent rage, she tried to focus on something – anything – to get the sight of his steely grey eyes glaring at her out of her mind. But the constant dull ache that she’d grown accustomed to had inflamed into a sharp stabbing pain. Reluctantly, she made her way to the bathroom and fished the potion out of her bathroom cupboard.
She’d been relying on it with increasing frequency. A few nights a week, she’d be doubled over with pain, Darien urging her to take a dose. One time, she’d caught him slipping some of the painkiller into her mug while he was making her a cup of tea. Ginny had been incredibly annoyed at the time, but his reasoned argument that she was too stubborn to admit defeat had granted him some clemency from her irritation.
Ginny examined the large bottle. It was almost empty, and she’d had the prescription refilled a little over a week before. The pain is getting harder to control, she thought to herself. With a sigh, she tipped the bottle back and felt its contents course down her throat. It burned and left a wretched after taste, but the relief – the slight alleviation of pain – was almost immediate.
Placing the bottle back on its shelf, she closed the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection. Gaunt and sallow, her appearance had definitely seen better days. Her skin had the tight, dry feeling that always followed a bout of tears, and she noticed that the skin of her forearm was bruising slightly, probably from where Darien had gripped her a little too tightly. Staring at her reflection, she was overcome with the desperate need to wash the remnants of her tears away.
Despite knowing the potion’s side effects would soon take over, and she’d become groggy and very disoriented in a few minutes’ time, she shed her clothing and turned on the shower. Gasping as the water’s cold temperature shocked her, she gritted her teeth and stepped inside, holding her breath until the water warmed. She had to grasp the wall of the shower to hold her balance, as the powerful spray washed over her.
The cold rain washed over them, pounding into the sodden ground, adding another layer of misery to the day. The only warmth she could feel was from Draco’s hand, holding tightly to hers as the funeral’s proceedings continued.
“And while we shall always mourn the loss of Colin, we are comforted by the fact that he died for the ones he loved, displaying the courage he held in life, even in the face of death,” Fudge was saying, casting an inappropriately condescending look to the man’s wife and two young children. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat, already tight with the effort of holding back her grief, and Draco’s hand tightened its grip upon hers, where it stayed until the ceremony had finished. The cold rainwater lashed against their faces the entire time.
After paying their respects to Colin Creevey’s widow, they walked away from the sodden graveyard and deep sorrow of their friends who had stayed behind. Before stepping into her Ministry-appointed vehicle, she turned to look one last time at the tragic sight of a young wife standing alone before her husband’s grave, trying to comfort two young children.
“Promise me,” she said, breaking the silence between them that had began as they left the cemetery. “Promise me that you’ll never even think about dying for me – to save me, or whatever.”
Draco’s eyes burned into her own, as he understood the many different underlying reasons for her demand. Taking her small, cold hand into his own, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips, his breath warm against her skin.
“You should never die for the people you love. You should live for them,” he said quietly.
She was just reaching the steam-induced state of relaxation, when her mind began to get a little foggy and her vision, a little cloudy, when a jarring shock of pain gripped her abdomen. Crying out against the suddenness of it, her hands slipped from their hold on the moist wall. Bracing herself against the wall in front of her, she shut off the water, and stepped out of the tub, all the while gasping against the pain.
“Why did you have to come? Why did you have to find me?” he was asking, regret plain in his voice.
She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her trembling body, wracked with searing pain. Her vision was swimming, the sight of her bathroom wobbling before her eyes. She fought against it; the desire to lay down and succumb became overwhelming.
All she knew was shock and pain. Lying on her back, where she’d been lowered by the strong arms that had caught her when she fell after he’d attacked, staring into the darkness above her, all she knew was pain. She was growing colder, and breathing was becoming so much harder – all she wanted to do was close her eyes and let the pain carry her away to a place where she wouldn’t hurt anymore.
He was leaning over her, his face hovering in her field of vision. She cried out as a wave of heat passed through her body. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anymore. His blood-covered hands moved from where they rested about her bleeding abdomen, and she could feel them against her forehead.
His breath was warm and gentle against her ear. His was whispering something to her.
“Live,” his voice said, quietly commanding, and as she heard it, the wave that was carrying her away was brought to a crashing halt and her body exploded in agony, and her scream drowned out anything else he might have said as it echoed against the walls of the cave.
With a cry, she stumbled forward. Grabbing the counter, her hand scattering the contents of the surface, she tried to keep a grip on reality. Something important had flitted in her memory… if she could only remember just a little more…
Another stab of pain wracked her body, and her feet gave out. Sobbing, knowing that she was about to lose consciousness, she tried to keep her eyes open, clinging to the thought that something important had flashed through her memory. With a cry, she couldn’t bar the pain any longer, and her eyes snapped shut.
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His footsteps echoed in her apartment. His eyes swept over the well-known setting, taking in the state of it. He knew immediately that something was very wrong, there was a feeling in the air that was palpably different from the last time he’d been there.
It was quite late, and yet, all the lights were on. Papers were scattered all around – his first clue that things weren’t right. Ginny Weasley did not leave any kind of documents lying around; they were always neatly placed in a file folder (which would probably end up tossed haphazardly to the floor afterwards) before retiring for the night.
He glanced around the living room, and not seeing her, he proceeded cautiously towards the bedroom. He kept his footsteps light, knowing that she probably wasn’t going to be very pleased to see him, given their last encounter. He sighed regretfully as that thought flashed through his mind.
He heard a crash that came from the bathroom, and forgetting that an important aspect of his plan included stealth, he ran the few feet to get there. As he crossed the threshold and saw the sight of her, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel and splayed across the floor, he had to call upon all of his strength to remain calm. Walking into the bathroom, he knelt down beside her and cursorily examined her, attempting to see what had caused her to fall.
He touched her head, and when he drew his hand away, it was covered with blood. Cursing, he searched around, and spotting another towel, he grabbed it and used it to wrap around her body as he gathered her small form into his arms. As he brushed the wet hair plaster to her forehead out of her eyes, they fluttered open.
“It’s you,” she whispered weakly.
“It’s me,” he answered, his voice hoarse. She smiled slightly, as her eyes gazed up at him, lost in a dream.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” she said. He pulled her closer to him.
“Then you don’t really know me at all, Weasley,” he said, keeping his tone light. He stood up, carrying her out of the bathroom as she lay limp in his arms. A cold rage was brewing deep within him; he’d finally discovered who the mastermind was, the one who had been pulling the strings all these months, and now, he was seeing what the cost was to the small woman in his arms. He would pay.
“Draco, where are we going?” she mumbled.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it. Compared to what a Weasley such as yourself is used to, it’ll be absolutely palatial,” he said, shifting her weight slightly as he pulled a small object out of pocket. “I’ve got to get you away from here, before they get to any more of your memories.”
“If this is a dream, I refuse to wake up. Being awake hurts,” she said weakly. He closed his eyes as her statement tore at his heart, and needed a moment before he could respond.
“It’s not a dream, that much I can tell you,” he said, pulling the edge of his robe around her. He then grabbed the small silver lighter that was doubling as a Portkey, and the vision of her small apartment faded away from his sight.
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AN: Updated twice in one week! *feels triumphant*
She’d been warned that the pain would return often, and had been given a supply of potion to combat the stabbing ache that stretched from her ribs to her hipbone. It very rarely worked, and one could only assume that it was because her wounds were inflicted by a mythical sword with unknown magical powers. Not that many were privy to the nature of the weapon that had wounded her, of course, but those who did know were in agreement with the grim assessment that the wound may never heal completely.
After Darien had left her apartment in a silent rage, she tried to focus on something – anything – to get the sight of his steely grey eyes glaring at her out of her mind. But the constant dull ache that she’d grown accustomed to had inflamed into a sharp stabbing pain. Reluctantly, she made her way to the bathroom and fished the potion out of her bathroom cupboard.
She’d been relying on it with increasing frequency. A few nights a week, she’d be doubled over with pain, Darien urging her to take a dose. One time, she’d caught him slipping some of the painkiller into her mug while he was making her a cup of tea. Ginny had been incredibly annoyed at the time, but his reasoned argument that she was too stubborn to admit defeat had granted him some clemency from her irritation.
Ginny examined the large bottle. It was almost empty, and she’d had the prescription refilled a little over a week before. The pain is getting harder to control, she thought to herself. With a sigh, she tipped the bottle back and felt its contents course down her throat. It burned and left a wretched after taste, but the relief – the slight alleviation of pain – was almost immediate.
Placing the bottle back on its shelf, she closed the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection. Gaunt and sallow, her appearance had definitely seen better days. Her skin had the tight, dry feeling that always followed a bout of tears, and she noticed that the skin of her forearm was bruising slightly, probably from where Darien had gripped her a little too tightly. Staring at her reflection, she was overcome with the desperate need to wash the remnants of her tears away.
Despite knowing the potion’s side effects would soon take over, and she’d become groggy and very disoriented in a few minutes’ time, she shed her clothing and turned on the shower. Gasping as the water’s cold temperature shocked her, she gritted her teeth and stepped inside, holding her breath until the water warmed. She had to grasp the wall of the shower to hold her balance, as the powerful spray washed over her.
The cold rain washed over them, pounding into the sodden ground, adding another layer of misery to the day. The only warmth she could feel was from Draco’s hand, holding tightly to hers as the funeral’s proceedings continued.
“And while we shall always mourn the loss of Colin, we are comforted by the fact that he died for the ones he loved, displaying the courage he held in life, even in the face of death,” Fudge was saying, casting an inappropriately condescending look to the man’s wife and two young children. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat, already tight with the effort of holding back her grief, and Draco’s hand tightened its grip upon hers, where it stayed until the ceremony had finished. The cold rainwater lashed against their faces the entire time.
After paying their respects to Colin Creevey’s widow, they walked away from the sodden graveyard and deep sorrow of their friends who had stayed behind. Before stepping into her Ministry-appointed vehicle, she turned to look one last time at the tragic sight of a young wife standing alone before her husband’s grave, trying to comfort two young children.
“Promise me,” she said, breaking the silence between them that had began as they left the cemetery. “Promise me that you’ll never even think about dying for me – to save me, or whatever.”
Draco’s eyes burned into her own, as he understood the many different underlying reasons for her demand. Taking her small, cold hand into his own, he pressed the back of her hand to his lips, his breath warm against her skin.
“You should never die for the people you love. You should live for them,” he said quietly.
She was just reaching the steam-induced state of relaxation, when her mind began to get a little foggy and her vision, a little cloudy, when a jarring shock of pain gripped her abdomen. Crying out against the suddenness of it, her hands slipped from their hold on the moist wall. Bracing herself against the wall in front of her, she shut off the water, and stepped out of the tub, all the while gasping against the pain.
“Why did you have to come? Why did you have to find me?” he was asking, regret plain in his voice.
She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her trembling body, wracked with searing pain. Her vision was swimming, the sight of her bathroom wobbling before her eyes. She fought against it; the desire to lay down and succumb became overwhelming.
All she knew was shock and pain. Lying on her back, where she’d been lowered by the strong arms that had caught her when she fell after he’d attacked, staring into the darkness above her, all she knew was pain. She was growing colder, and breathing was becoming so much harder – all she wanted to do was close her eyes and let the pain carry her away to a place where she wouldn’t hurt anymore.
He was leaning over her, his face hovering in her field of vision. She cried out as a wave of heat passed through her body. His lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear anymore. His blood-covered hands moved from where they rested about her bleeding abdomen, and she could feel them against her forehead.
His breath was warm and gentle against her ear. His was whispering something to her.
“Live,” his voice said, quietly commanding, and as she heard it, the wave that was carrying her away was brought to a crashing halt and her body exploded in agony, and her scream drowned out anything else he might have said as it echoed against the walls of the cave.
With a cry, she stumbled forward. Grabbing the counter, her hand scattering the contents of the surface, she tried to keep a grip on reality. Something important had flitted in her memory… if she could only remember just a little more…
Another stab of pain wracked her body, and her feet gave out. Sobbing, knowing that she was about to lose consciousness, she tried to keep her eyes open, clinging to the thought that something important had flashed through her memory. With a cry, she couldn’t bar the pain any longer, and her eyes snapped shut.
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His footsteps echoed in her apartment. His eyes swept over the well-known setting, taking in the state of it. He knew immediately that something was very wrong, there was a feeling in the air that was palpably different from the last time he’d been there.
It was quite late, and yet, all the lights were on. Papers were scattered all around – his first clue that things weren’t right. Ginny Weasley did not leave any kind of documents lying around; they were always neatly placed in a file folder (which would probably end up tossed haphazardly to the floor afterwards) before retiring for the night.
He glanced around the living room, and not seeing her, he proceeded cautiously towards the bedroom. He kept his footsteps light, knowing that she probably wasn’t going to be very pleased to see him, given their last encounter. He sighed regretfully as that thought flashed through his mind.
He heard a crash that came from the bathroom, and forgetting that an important aspect of his plan included stealth, he ran the few feet to get there. As he crossed the threshold and saw the sight of her, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel and splayed across the floor, he had to call upon all of his strength to remain calm. Walking into the bathroom, he knelt down beside her and cursorily examined her, attempting to see what had caused her to fall.
He touched her head, and when he drew his hand away, it was covered with blood. Cursing, he searched around, and spotting another towel, he grabbed it and used it to wrap around her body as he gathered her small form into his arms. As he brushed the wet hair plaster to her forehead out of her eyes, they fluttered open.
“It’s you,” she whispered weakly.
“It’s me,” he answered, his voice hoarse. She smiled slightly, as her eyes gazed up at him, lost in a dream.
“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” she said. He pulled her closer to him.
“Then you don’t really know me at all, Weasley,” he said, keeping his tone light. He stood up, carrying her out of the bathroom as she lay limp in his arms. A cold rage was brewing deep within him; he’d finally discovered who the mastermind was, the one who had been pulling the strings all these months, and now, he was seeing what the cost was to the small woman in his arms. He would pay.
“Draco, where are we going?” she mumbled.
“Don’t worry, you’ll like it. Compared to what a Weasley such as yourself is used to, it’ll be absolutely palatial,” he said, shifting her weight slightly as he pulled a small object out of pocket. “I’ve got to get you away from here, before they get to any more of your memories.”
“If this is a dream, I refuse to wake up. Being awake hurts,” she said weakly. He closed his eyes as her statement tore at his heart, and needed a moment before he could respond.
“It’s not a dream, that much I can tell you,” he said, pulling the edge of his robe around her. He then grabbed the small silver lighter that was doubling as a Portkey, and the vision of her small apartment faded away from his sight.
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AN: Updated twice in one week! *feels triumphant*
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