“And then I told the buggers to clear out or I’d curse them until their mums wouldn’t even recognise them!” Draco finished his story exuberantly as he mimicked legs scampering away with his two fingers. Ginny laughed as she tucked her long hair behind her ears.
“You’re so awful to those kids! Did you even consider not abusing that Prefect badge the moment you got it?” she asked with a disapproving shake of her head as an amused smile played on her lips.
Feigning a pensive look, he pretended to think for a moment. Then, as a derisive smirk spread across his face, he dismissed her question with an easy wave of his hand.
“Ha, yea right. They had it coming anyways.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled knowingly. Those poor first years had probably done nothing more than look at him the wrong way.
After taking a long swig from his bottle, he motioned towards her with it. “Nice idea, swiping the butterbeer from the kitchens. I’m sure those elves were only too happy to help you out.”
“Cheers.” She clinked her bottle with his before taking her own swill.
Looking around the deserted courtyard outside the castle entrance, Ginny took a moment to enjoy the fading autumn colours as winter steadily crept in with its bleak, grey hues. She remembered when she, Ron, Hermione, and Harry would take study breaks out here, lounging under the large, sheltering trees and laughing together. Almost sniggering out loud at the thought of their faces if they saw her here, having a friendly conversation with Draco Malfoy, she then remembered how lonesome the year thus far had been without them. She felt so cut off, studying for her maddeningly useless exams while the rest of the world was slowly being turned upside down, and her friends were out there, risking their lives. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort’s chaos reached Hogwarts, but until then, her mother insisted on the school being the safest place for her.
She pulled her robes more tightly around her to keep out the chill.
“Cold?” he asked as he polished off his bottle.
“Yea, I should probably head in anyways. McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam tomorrow is going to be brutal.”
Hauling himself from his seat on the ground at the base of the tree, Draco dusted the bits of leaves and grass from his robes, and then held out his hand to help her up as well. Ginny blushed slightly at his chivalry as she took it, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red flush spreading over her cheeks.
“Same time, say, Friday?” He folded up some old, blank parchment and put it in his pocket. He then caught her eye as he awaited her answer.
She felt an enjoyable tingle run through her chest as she met his eyes. They’d been so warm and easygoing lately, she was sure she’d never be used to it; the icy glare she had become accustomed to during her first five years of school with him hadn’t made an appearance for quite some time.
“Sounds good,” she agreed as they headed up the stone steps side-by-side.
During the past few weeks, the two students had found a strange consolation in each other, and were finally finding their days to be quite agreeable despite the loneliness of their situations. Their newly formed friendship was rather discomfited, given Draco’s lack of experience, but he found her ability to look past their former mutual dislike and to have a real conversation with him comforting in his seclusion from the world. There was also the unmistakable tension brewing between them, left to simmer for the time being, though neither would admit it to the other after that awkward interruption in Draco’s sleeping quarters.
They’d meet occasionally to talk of simple things, avoiding tender subjects such as his sketchy past, or Harry, whose mere mention created new feelings of jealousy in Draco, and guilt in Ginny. Given their stubborn personalities and their tendencies to speak their minds, they often argued. Sometimes it was about Draco’s inflated ego in his magical abilities due to his Pureblood status, which usually ended in a borderline friendly duel, or Ginny’s insistence that Muggles were people equal to Wizards. Their arguments were never too serious, and they would always agree to disagree if nothing else.
After deciding upon a meeting time, she would make a game of Draco finding her on the map; she never led him to the same place twice, and it made each of their meetings a little exciting. One day, a few weeks before Christmas break, Draco sat on his bed in his dormitory at one of these designated times, searching the map for her name.
“Shit!” he swore loudly at the names representing the two dots much too close to hers. Immediately taking off from his tower, wand at the ready, he tore through the corridors, pointing fingers and yelps of surprise from the other students be damned.
Reaching the dungeons, he streaked past where he knew the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room to be, turned a corner, and then burst into a classroom, hardly daring to imagine what he would find.
Crabbe and Goyle, each laughing maniacally, held their wands on their powerless victim. Ginny struggled from against the wall at the top of the ceiling, fifteen feet in the air, her feet kicking wildly as their spell held her suspended by her neck. She grabbed at air, willing her fingers to wrap around the invisible force keeping her from breath, her face a horrible shade of purple.
At Draco’s sudden appearance, they both whirled around in surprise, turning their wands instead on their former leader. As he dodged the two menacing curses sent his way, Ginny’s scream filled the chamber as she fell, the spell no longer supporting her weight. Landing with a crunch on the hard floor, she lay unmoving as a slow river of scarlet blood seeped into her mess of hair, darkening it to a crimson red as it matted in sloppy chunks to the stone.
A crazy rage suddenly filled him from head to toe at the sight of her motionless body, creating a violent shake in his very core that took a large part of his concentration to control. Unable to recognise where this fury was emanating from, he couldn’t regulate it; he could only command it.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” he shouted, pointing his wand at each of the brutes in turn, slightly amazed at the amount of determination in their faces. They were never ones to think for themselves.
“She was breathing my air. That’s enough for me to take care of a blood traitor,” Crabbe growled, snarling in her direction.
“We heard you were lurking around here, hiding from the Dark Lord,” Goyle sneered. “We also promised our fathers that we would make you sorry you ever–” Mid-sentence, Draco hit him square in the chest with a powerful stunning spell, uninterested in anything he had to say. Goyle’s face took a more typically vacant expression, and he fell backwards with a crash. Never having had the ability to reinforce his spells with such powerful emotions before, Draco noticed that rage turned out to be quite potent.
Knowing that these Neanderthals would first waste time talking to build themselves up with their haughty words, Draco took the initiative and incapacitated the stronger one first. If it were just between him and Crabbe, he knew there would be no contest. Crabbe also knew this, and bolted for the door in a panic. Using all of his self-control to keep an Unforgivable from escaping his lips, Draco merely stunned his former comrade in the back, leaving him less than satisfied; he would have liked to inflict more pain.
With both Crabbe and Goyle down, Draco ran to Ginny’s side. Ripping off a sleeve to his robes, he bundled them under her head where he believed the blood to be escaping, and rolled her onto her back and into his arms. Her head lolled around limply as if she were just a rag doll, her features blank and her face pale. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her chest rising and falling in laboured breaths.
He pointed his wand from beneath her knees at the door, shouting a spell to open it, and then ran full speed to the hospital wing, even more pointing and yelling from the students following him.
As he burst into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey gave a small shriek at the sight of him, given that she hadn’t seen him since that fateful night. Her surprise and indignation at his noisy entrance to the stillness of her infirmary was silenced by his look of absolute desperation and the wilted form of Ginny Weasley in his arms, dripping small drops of blood from her head.
“Put her down here!” she barked, gesturing to the nearest bed, immediately taking control of the situation.
Draco laid her as gently as he could onto the white sheets, and stepped back. His bare arm, whose sleeve lay useless on the floor, sopping with blood, was painted scarlet. He felt utterly helpless. There was a pain gripping at his very soul for the unconscious witch, physically constricting his chest and chasing any other thought from his mind.
He had never felt this hopeless with fear before. All last year, when he and his mother’s life had been in danger, and when he had been expected to do things at which he knew he would fail, he had still never felt so scared. Fear of the fear itself strengthened exponentially until he could hardly breathe, and wouldn’t be able to properly until he knew the fate of this girl whom he had grown fonder of than he had yet to admit to himself.
“Mr. Malfoy, please leave! I need room; you may come back later.” The nurse pushed him towards the door, then commenced to muttering complicated charms as she made circular motions over Ginny’s head with her wand.
Taking one more look at the still body on the bed, the white pillow supporting her head already drenched in crimson, Draco slowly and reluctantly exited the hospital wing. He conjured an uncomfortable chair to keep him awake, stationing himself just outside the door; he wanted to be the first to see her.
The darkness was absolute, calm, and peaceful. Not a sound was welcome in this pleasant void of anything and everything. How did I get here? Am I dead? This thought had snuck in, making it plain that there was a leak of consciousness, allowing a few sounds and feelings to enter along with the thought. The sound of heels clicking on stone and of rifling parchment was allowed in. Then the dull thumping began, slow and painful, but that wasn’t the most curious of sensations. Ginny became aware of her hand, and her fingers, interlaced with other fingers. The back of her hand was pressed against warm skin. She made the slightest movement with her head, but went no further as the dull thumping instantly doubled. She daren’t open her eyes quite yet; no matter how many sensations were leaked into her sanctuary, light was still not welcome. She twitched her fingers, the back of her thumb grazing a smooth, distinguished nose.
The face of the man she should have thought of first was hazy in the back of her mind, the green eyes, usually so vibrant, were simple and uninteresting. In the front of her mind was the face of the man who had saved her. Saved me from what? His cool, grey eyes were sharp and clear, his soft lips forming a wide, genuine smile, so rarely seen, and it was just for her.
“Draco…” Ginny murmured, more of a moan than a word. She felt the fingers tighten against hers, reassuring her. A warm, soft hand came to rest lightly on the side of her face, and she leaned into it, choosing its comfort over the pain in her head. The feelings were slipping away, becoming weak and dim. As she lost consciousness, she tried to whisper his name again, to tell him not to leave her, but she barely made a sound in her throat before she slipped again into her void, back into a tranquil stupor.
Ginny opened her eyes to the dim glow of candlelight illuminating a room blanketed in the darkness of a very late hour. What a weird dream, she thought. Then she realised that she wasn’t in her bed; the bedspread covering her was itchy, and white. She tried to sit up, and then collapsed back onto the bed with a gasp as her head split into two with pain. Reaching to find the source of the anguish, she found heavy bandages wrapped around her head.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” Madam Pomfrey bustled over to her with a large, green bottle, pouring a thick, brown liquid onto a spoon. I sure hope she doesn’t expect me to take that. The Gryffindor eyed it with apprehension.
Sure enough, the nurse forced the spoon into Ginny’s mouth, shushing her protests. The brown potion tasted surprisingly sweet, like honey, and her head was already feeling less like she had been hit full on by a bludger.
“What happened?” Ginny asked, feeling again for the back of her head.
“I would ask that one.” Madam Pomfrey jerked her head in the direction to the side of Ginny’s bed, pursing her lips in obvious disapproval. “He hasn’t left your side all night.”
Already knowing what she would find, Ginny looked to her left at the curled up form, sleeping obviously uncomfortably in a chair next to her. His blond hair was hopelessly messy, and his face held an angry expression, most likely due to his sleeping position. She hadn’t even realised until now that he had a hold of her other hand, trapping it between his own two, her fingers woven in between each of his. A light smile played on her lips as she watched him sleep, knowing now the source of her odd dreams. Were they dreams? She tried to remember what had landed her here, but all she received was a bunch of haze.
The nurse came back at her with another potion for her to take. “Drink this, dear. It will help you get back to sleep.”
Ginny took the sleeping draught obediently and drifted into a deep slumber.
Author notes: Draco saves the day! What do you think?
Next Chapter: The Mark Revealed
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