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Chapter 9: Ginny’s Revenge...

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Draco spent the majority of the night tossing and turning in his bed. Don't get him wrong; he was grateful that he finally had his own bed, but he just couldn’t shake the memories of what had happened earlier.

I must learn how to protect myself from Dementors, he thought, shuddering as he flipped over again. I already messed up badly enough this time. If it were to happen again….I don't know what consequences it could have.

Finally, he fell into a sort of in-between state, asleep but not fully, awake but without awareness. Harsh nightmares tormented his sleep, nightmares in which he saw himself kissing Marion, who transformed suddenly into Ginny. And that feeling of dread and fear never left his mind.

Eventually, he decided that it was pointless pretending to sleep and got up to stretch his legs and maybe get tired enough to finally gain unconsciousness. However, he doubted that the mere act of walking would tire him up any more than he already was; his muscles were still sore from the manual labour he had to undertake that afternoon. He ached everywhere…even in muscles he didn't even know the existence of.

He got up anyway, and his gaze went briefly to the clock—half past two in the morning. Damn, time was crawling by slowly! He paced the room nervously and looked at his reflection in the mirror, one of the many things Hermione had fixed the day before. The mark of Ginny’s slap had faded away, but there’s still a reminder of what happened, he thought, as his gaze caught sight of what lay on the floor next to his bed. He had completely forgotten about it; when he returned to his room, he went straight to bed, only remembering to put his pyjamas on. But the food Ginny brought to him was still there, all splattered on the floor.

He sighed and picked up again the pail and the cloths that Hermione had left there, starting to clean up. The thought that he had to be wandless for yet another day gave a jolt to his insides, And there was another problem: how would he get his wand back? Ollivander could’ve called the Aurors; he couldn't go there.

He moved the wet cloths across the floor, trying to remove all traces of milk. The white liquid had dried on the wooden beams and was now filling the room with the foulest stench. He'd never thought it would be so difficult to clean dried milk from the floor. He’d never really had to think about it, actually. If he’d thrown some milk on the floor at Malfoy Manor, there would always be a house elf close enough to fix the problem. Besides, in the two years he’d spent alone, he’d never stayed in the same place for long, so he never had to clean it, unlike now.

It took him a lot of hard work, but eventually, he managed to clean the floor of any trace of milk and other stains. It took him so long that, when he glanced at the clock, he noticed that it was a quarter to three.

He still wasn’t sleepy. The room was stale and hot—he needed air, so he walked to the window. The shutters were shabby from the tear and wear of time and weather. There were intricate carvings of dragon’s heads at the edges of the windows, but they were worn out as well. The whole structure seemed to be ready to fall on his head if he even attempted cracking it open a little, so he didn't dare touch it.

The moon was shining in the dark sky. Granger was right; tomorrow, it would be a full moon. A shiver ran down Draco’s spine at the thought that Lupin would turn into a werewolf. The stories that his governess had told him when he was a child echoed in his mind and gave him the creeps. Until he went to Hogwarts, he didn’t know about the Wolfsbane potion. Besides, when they were at Hogwarts, it was Professor Snape who'd prepared it, which had filled Draco with confidence, being the Potion Master. But this time, Granger had prepared it, and it was a new formula.

Would it work?

Uncharacteristically for him, Draco found himself thinking that it would. Flashing his eyebrows at the sudden realisation, Draco rubbed his thumb under his chin, wondering when he started trusting Granger. He wasn't exactly certain, but he had.

Still shocked, he tore himself away from the window and started to pace the room again. He thought about going back under the blankets, but he changed his mind, too afraid of having to face yet another dream where he was kissing Ginny. He didn’t want to have any more of those dreams, and besides, that nasty feeling just didn’t want to go away.

Eventually, he resolved to get out of his room and spend some time exploring the building; after all, he hadn’t yet familiarised himself with the place he'd agreed to live in. He put a dressing gown on and wondered where it came from, as it hadn’t been there when he'd tidied the room with Hermione’s help. Maybe Ginny put it there when she made his bed. Ginny and the bed…damn, he didn’t want to think about these two things—together!

He opened his bedroom door and stepped into the corridor of the first floor. He already knew the ground floor pretty well, so he decided to have a look at the one he was on now, and then at the floors above.

The room near the stairs was Harry and Ginny’s. He knew that because he’d seen them coming out of it that morning. He noticed that the doors of the rooms that belonged to someone were the only ones that weren’t worn out. The laundry room’s door—Potter said that the room next to Draco’s was the laundry room—was crooked but in better condition than the other ones, which evidently were hiding empty rooms. Apart from the laundry room, his room and the one where Harry and Ginny slept, Draco saw that there was only one other door that didn’t look worn out. He thought it might be Sirius’s room. At least, he had seen Sirius walking through that corridor in the morning. He could’ve been there to look for Potter, but the latter was already in the library at that moment, and Sirius knew that perfectly well.

Curious, Draco tried to open one of the worn-out doors to have a look at the empty rooms. He found out that Potter hadn’t been lying: the room they gave to Draco really was in good condition. A few empty rooms also had broken floorboards. How could that building still be up? Could it possibly be that the spell Potter and the others had cast on it was that powerful?

Tired of walking through the first floor, he decided to look at the ones above. He noticed that even the stairs were tidied up by magic. In fact, the steps that lead to the third floor were almost impossible to use.

On the second floor, he saw only one pristine door and understood who slept there. Of course, those two needed a bit more privacy. The other rooms were a complete disaster, just like the ones he had seen on the first floor. On opening one, he panicked, feeling the door actually detaching from its hinges. He tried to shut it down again quietly—oh well, quietly was indeed a big word...let’s say trying not to let anybody hear the curses he was hissing against the door and the cracking noise of the pivots—but this required a great effort from him.

He had a quick look at the other rooms, more cautiously than before, and then decided to look on the third floor. However, when he arrived at the fifth or sixth step, he almost gave up; not only were the steps creaking as he walked up, but it felt as if the stairs were going to collapse entirely. He decided to pursue his task, though, since anything was better than going back to that bed, and having those dreams.

Cautiously, he kept going up, hoping at every creak that the two who slept on the second floor didn’t come out and try to hex him—he couldn’t defend himself! But eventually, he arrived at his destination. It was in a really deplorable condition. If the whole building was in such a state, I’ll take my hat off to whomever set up the first two floors, he thought, realising that he had just made a compliment to Hermione; because, of course, she must've been the one who took care of that. He was starting to get too nice towards her for his own liking.

Not only was the floor a complete disaster, but it was awfully hot, and the smell was giving him a headache and a sense of claustrophobia.

He decided to climb on. The building was composed of seven floors, as he found out, over which was a big terrace. Feeling unbearably sick from the heaviness of the air around him, Draco opened the door to the terrace and found himself outside. He shuddered at the chilly wind that slapped his face. Arms crossed, rubbing his hands on his shoulders to build heat, he walked to the parapet, staring for a while at Muggle London under him.

It was four in the morning, but a few cars were already crossing the roads at high speeds. Those Muggles had to go to work early. Draco also saw a few of those ridiculous red buses. He'd seen many of them when he hid in different hostels every day; some buses were built on two floors, but there were also a few of them that only had one. They were useful, but none of them could ever be compared to the Knight Bus, he mused. No, they couldn’t be compared with that. The moon had floated along the entire night sky and was slowly fading, and the stars were shining brighter than before. His mind went back to Hogwarts; looking at the starry sky in the Astronomy Tower, maybe while snogging a girl...he didn’t win the title of best Slytherin kisser for nothing.

Once again kisses? Damn...he thought, shrugging. He had to find less dangerous thoughts. I must tell her that I’m sorry. Not that I think she had an unpleasant experience...she kissed Draco Malfoy; it’s not every day you kiss the handsomest boy in Slytherin!

He didn’t even know what the problem was. Maybe he felt guilty because he had kissed her while mistaking her for another woman. Yes, maybe it was that; it wasn’t a nice way to treat someone, even a Weasley.

Finally, he couldn’t stay outside in the cold anymore and went back into the building, shutting the door after him. His hands were freezing...it had really been a stupid idea to go outside wearing only his pyjamas and dressing-gown in the middle of winter. He went downstairs, cautiously again, holding his breath at each creak, but nobody seemed to hear the noise, and he was soon back in his room.

He sank to his bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

He woke a few hours later and stared at the ceiling, baffled. He didn’t know how long he had slept…but luckily, no more nightmares. He slowly sat up and glanced at the clock—it was half past eight in the morning, so he had slept for almost four hours. Now that was a miracle!

He wore the same robe as the day before and decided to go downstairs to look for a bite to eat. He really was starving; it was incredible how hungry you get if you’ve slept only a few hours. He hurried down the stairs and found himself in the hall.

One of the windows positioned on the outside let a few rays of sunlight through; Draco could see the dust dancing down the hallway. He found himself staring at a small bit of it, which was calmly wavering in front of his nose. He took a moment to shrug and come back to his senses. Oh, yes, he had to get something to eat...the building was so quiet that maybe everyone was still asleep. He could hear the voices of the Muggles outside: someone was yelling at the women to buy his potatoes. Bah! He had more interesting things to do right now, as suddenly, the smell of food reached his nostrils, and Draco was sure that it came from the kitchen. Yes, definitely from there; he also thought he heard the sound of eggs frying.

Draco came into the room where he had slept for days, and saw Lupin, still asleep, holding protectively a bottle half filled with the Potion Granger had prepared all day before. His hand seemed to clutch the bottle as if it contained his life.

The smell of food was even stronger there, and Draco smiled before entering the kitchen. He’d finally have the opportunity to talk to Ginny and tell her that he was sorry and it was all a terrible mistake. He’d lose that knot in his stomach that had distressed him all night.

But, to his astonishment, the one who was in the kitchen wasn’t Ginny.

‘Oh, you woke up.’ A pair of green eyes glared at him from near the stove. Draco sighed—Potter didn’t seem happy.

‘Where’s Weasley?’ he asked, pretending not to have heard him.

‘She’s still upstairs. This morning she literally threw me out of bed, saying that she couldn’t always do everything. She looked upset. Now she’s still sleeping; I dunno what happened to her,’ replied Harry, sighing as he checked the thickness of the porridge. ‘Pass me the blueberries, please,’ he asked Draco, pointing at the table while he poured the thick liquid into a cup. Draco glanced at the worktop and flashed his eyebrows because there were two different types of berries. Was he supposed to know which one Potter wanted?

‘Why should I?’ he asked.

Harry gazed at him, forgetting for a moment to pay attention to his Porridge.

‘Come on, make it easy, Malfoy. I’m cooking for you too, just pass me the blueberries. Or you cook it yourself.’ Harry's smile turned sly at the worried glance Draco had addressed him.

‘Which ones d’you need?’ he asked.

‘The same quantity of both. Quickly, please. Ah, I also need the honey, over there,’ continued Harry, pointing to the other side of the table as he carefully arranged the porridge. When he saw Harry decorating the Porridge with the berries, he had to admit that it smelled and looked good.

‘I didn’t think you could cook,’ he said.

Harry glared at him as he finished his decorations.

‘I don’t like doing it, but I had to learn. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always forced me to make breakfast and wash the dishes...and if the Porridge wasn’t perfect or the bacon was burnt, they would shout at me. Of course, you never had problems of that sort.’

Draco noticed that Harry was really pissed off—he had blushed considerably and was frowning. Not that he cared a damn about Potter's Muggle relatives, but he thought that they must have been really awful.

Thinking that Potter’s childhood hadn’t been as good as his gave him a slight sense of satisfaction.

‘Don’t take this as a compliment Potter...but I think the Porridge is just fine right now. I don’t want the eggs to burn, I’m hungry,’ he said, giving a worried glance to the frying-pans. Hastily, Harry turned to the stove and lowered the gas. He then glared at Draco.

‘If you’re that worried about your breakfast, you can cook it yourself, I already told you that,’ he hissed.

Draco smirked, amused by Harry’s agitation.

‘If I cooked something, Potter, this kitchen would explode in the same way the dungeons did at Hogwarts when Longbottom made a Potion. If you like the state it’s in now, I suggest you keep to the cooking.’

To Draco’s surprise, Harry hardly hid a laugh.

‘Yeah, I have no doubts,’ he said, checking the eggs again. Then he turned to Draco and stared at him, curiosity shining through his green eyes. ‘There’s something I wanted to ask you, Malfoy.’

‘What?’ Draco asked.

Harry turned the gas off and concentrated on the bacon briefly. Then, he turned off that hob and cleaned the sweat from his forehead, and his hands on his apron.

‘What did you do to Ginny?’ he asked afterwards, his gaze fixed at him.

Draco gasped at the question and his eyes widened: he’d never thought Harry would ask.

‘I…? N-nothing,’ he stammered, lowering his gaze. He tried to feign confidence by dropping himself to sit on the table casually, but Harry blocked him. He held him with an iron grip on his shoulder, and forced Draco to eye contact with him.

‘The Malfoy I know doesn’t say “nothing” looking awkward. It’s not something I’d expect from you.’

‘And what exactly would you expect from me?’ hissed Draco dryly.

Harry smirked at the question. ‘Yesterday I found Ginny coming out of your room. She looked distressed and I heard her screaming just beforehand.’

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, trying to keep a dignified expression, but eventually he lowered his gaze...getting annoyed with himself for showing himself weak. He shrugged Harry’s hand harshly from his shoulder and sat at the table.

‘If I said that nothing happened, then nothing happened.’ Draco looked coldly at the plate in front of him and noticed that he didn’t have cutlery. He cursed under his breath and stood up again, to go look for them.

‘She acted strangely yesterday after the fact. Not that I disliked what she did...but she said that she had to “forget something”. Forget what? And why is she so upset today? There must be a reason.’ Harry kept glaring at him, blabbing utter nonsense.

Suddenly, Draco threw his fork on his plate and glared back. ‘Since when were things like that? You don’t satisfy her in bed and it’s my fault?’ he snapped up.

Anger flashed through Harry’s eyes; he blushed furiously. ‘What have you done to her?’ he roared, slamming his hands on the table and lowering his face to Draco’s. Those eyes...it was as if a painful flash had passed through their green hue.

‘I just ask you to cook bloody breakfast and all hell breaks loose. D’you have to start having arguments with people this early in the morning?’

Both men turned to the voice. Ginny was resting her back on the wall and staring at the pair, her arms crossed over her chest. Draco thought that she was glaring at him, but instead her full attention was addressed to Harry, who had immediately lost all his haughtiness and rage.

‘But...Ginny…’ he stammered.

She put a hand on her forehead and sighed. She then walked to the stove, picked up the pan of fried eggs, toasted some bread with a flick of her wand and went to inspect the porridge.

‘Wow, I should ask you to cook more often, Harry,’ she said, shooting at the man with a piercing glance. Harry stiffened.

Of course she said that because she knew that it would annoy him, Draco thought.

Ginny took two small bowls, filled them with porridge, walked to the table and settled everything for breakfast. She then put one of the bowls in front of Draco. ‘This smells good, Malfoy. Eat it before it gets cold,’ she ordered.

It also tastes good, actually, Draco thought at his first spoonful. It wasn’t every day that the Boy-Who-Lived cooked your breakfast, after all. Harry looked stricken with frustration. Draco smirked and considered pushing things further. No, he decided, no need doing that...Black said that if anyone would get mad at me I’d find my arse out in the cold, and of course the ‘anyone’ wasn’t referred to Granger alone.

He kept eating his breakfast, thinking that he, absolutely, had to talk to Ginny. He had to tell her that he was sorry. Sometimes her gaze shot dagger at him and, the only time they had touched unintentionally, she had withdrawn her hand as if she'd been burnt.

Do I disgust her that much? thought Draco. It had been just a bloody kiss, after all! What if he’d done more? If I’d done more, I wouldn’t be here eating breakfast. His smirk grew wider as the thought crossed his mind.

However, there was something that was nagging him. At first, he had been curious but had kept his curiosity to himself because, after all, what happened between the youngest Weasley and Potter was none of his sodding business. Now it was starting to bother him though; why was Ginny that mad at Potter?

‘Good Morning.’ Lupin’s tired voice echoed in the kitchen. ‘Is there coffee ready? I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my eyes open, today.’ He dragged himself around the room looking almost like a ghost and displaying huge marks under his eyes.

Lupin Probably slept even less than me, Draco thought.

‘I’ll make it in a minute, Remus, please take a seat,’ said Ginny, hastily standing up to reach the stove.

Lupin put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to stay sitting. ‘You will prepare nothing, my dear,’ he said looking at her with a fond smile. ‘I'll make it myself. Today’s your birthday, you shouldn’t do menial chores.’

Ginny’s eyes brightened. She beamed at the man and settled down into her seat. Harry’s eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.

‘Ginny...happy birthday...I’m sorry,’ he said, as his face turned pink.

She glared at him even harsher than before. ‘If others must remind you…’ she hissed.

‘With all that happened yesterday, I forgot.’ He stood up and tenderly rested his chin on her shoulder, hugging her. ‘But I did remember, I swear...wait for me, I’ll be back.’

He rushed out of the kitchen and came back straight after, carrying a small package in his hands. ‘See? I didn’t forget.’

He put the gift in her hands and she raised a dubious eyebrow at him as she opened the present; it was a pendant in the shape of a G, made in silver and decorated with small diamonds and a heart in the back.

‘Oh it's lovely!’ she said, sincerely awed. But her joyful expression immediately faded into an annoyed frown. ‘Thank you,’ she added more softly.

‘You don’t like it? We can change it if you don’t,’ asked Harry nervously.

She shook her head to say no and wore the necklace. Then she hugged him and kissed him gently on the lips. But the hug didn’t look affectionate.

I must know what’s going on. Not my business, but I don’t like it when I don’t understand.

Draco spent his whole morning chasing after her, but she always succeeded in being with someone else. As time passed by, the knot in his stomach grew...he was so tired that his eyelids dropped and he couldn’t concentrate on the books he was skimming through. He wouldn’t be able to resist another night without sleep, tormented by those nightmares.

Eventually, he found the right moment. Potter was on the other side of the room, adding Draco’s face to a hand on the Weasley’s clock with Ron. Draco wasn't very happy about them doing that, but it kept Ginny alone so he didn’t complain. Granger and Black were reading in the library, Lupin was laying on his sofa, trying to get some sleep when he didn’t have to drink his Potion. He sat on the table near Ginny, who was waiting for the tea to be done.

‘Weasley,’ he started. She tried to stand, but he put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to sit. ‘Please, wait. I...wanted to...apologise.’

He swallowed hard before saying the last words, his face turning pink. She sat more comfortably at those words and checked the tea in the pot. It was ready to drink, because she filtered the leaves and then poured it in her and Draco’s mugs. The tea mixed with milk in the cups, turning into a creamy and delicate colour.

‘Apologise...for what?’ she asked abruptly.

‘I did something I shouldn’t have. I mean...I wasn’t myself, I know. The first thing I remember is your slap. I kissed you thinking that you were another person, and for that, I’m sorry,’ he muttered. Luckily Harry and Ron were still far away; he’d never want them to see his humiliation.

‘I understand,’ spoke Ginny, sipping her tea. She spent a long moment staring at the liquid in her mug, swirling it to mix the milk. ‘You kissed me thinking I was somebody else.’

‘Yes. Look, if it makes you happy, I didn’t sleep much last night.’

He looked up at her face. She gave him a tired smile.

‘All right, I accept your apology. Although...I don’t get why you let it affect you so badly. You were lucky, after all,’ she snapped.

Draco gave her a confused look. ‘What d’you mean?’ he drawled.

Her brown eyes shone in amusement but there was also something else in them that Draco couldn't put his finger on.

‘You were lucky that I was the one who woke you up. You could’ve kissed anybody, right? Imagine if Hermione had been in my place…’ Draco’s grey eyes widened even more as blood drained from his face. Ginny chortled and continued, ‘Or HARRY.’

Draco swallowed at that word. He felt drops of tea burning his throat and started to cough...he had to fight not to splutter. His face turned pink as he coughed spasmodically. Ginny let out a quiet giggle and addressed him with a venomous glare as she stood and walked towards the stove.

A few seconds later, Harry and Ron noticed Draco's coughing and left the charming of the clock’s hand. Harry rushed towards him and started to hit his back ruthlessly.

‘Are you all right, Malfoy?’ he asked.

At last Draco managed to stop coughing and looked around, meeting Harry’s green eyes, which were looking at him worriedly. His face turned as white as a sheet as he stood faster than he'd ever done in his life.

‘It’s none of your sodding business, Potter!’ he hissed and rushed out of the kitchen, still coughing.

Harry heard a door on the first floor slamming and looked at Ron who had just joined him.

‘What did I do now?’ he asked. Ron shrugged.

A little farther, Ginny barely suppressed another giggle and took off her apron, leaving the kitchen to go to the library. Harry looked around, confusion written all over his face.

To be Continued…