Sea of Waking Dreams

Sea of Waking Dreams

By Cinnamon

Chapter Eleven

Flashes of dreams surrounded by a cold, echoing darkness haunted Ginny. The dreams were broken by strange voices, shouting, screaming, and then silence. The blackness grew thicker, until Ginny wasn’t Ginny any longer. She was a tiny molecule of water, spinning madly through an endless ocean. A part of everything, and a part of nothing. The echoing nothingness chilled her, gently pulled every last bit that made up her identity away from her, and Ginny was about to let the last bit of it slip away with a sigh, the one thing she had held closer than any other.

The silence was broken, and she flinched away from the empty nothing that beckoned. Someone was speaking, far, far away, almost too far for her to hear. She could hear, however, and something about the voice called to her. She listened, trying to make out the words.

“Ginny? You can’t be dead.”

She drifted closer, listening, the blackness just a little lighter around her. Moving away from the darkness that was trying to suck her in hurt, and she flinched back.

“You’re not allowed to die, you’re not. You’re the only purely good thing I’ve ever known. Ginny, you’re not dead.”

He was lying, she decided, letting herself drift farther and farther away. It was easier this way, safer, sweeter.

“I’ll kill him.”

No.

Terror jerked her upwards, and she started struggling against the black tendrils that had wrapped themselves around her. She couldn’t let him go. She did not remember why or how she was to stop him, but all that she knew was that he was in danger if he tried to do what he had promised. She was clawing desperately towards consciousness, through the pain that slowly drifted back, wrapping itself around her and then tightening around her throat. She forced gasping breaths through her bruised throat that had, until then, been so sore that it had only let in the tiniest bit of air. Her chest shuddered and the pain made tears leak from her eyes, but still she fought, trying to reach out and touch him, beg him not to go, because if he went, he would die as well.

There was only echoing silence now, and the blackness called to her sweetly. Pain tore through her but she didn’t care. All she knew was that the only thing that mattered to her was reaching out and touching him.

Her eyes felt like someone had poured sand into them when they finally opened. For a moment, she didn’t remember a thing, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the rain, her throat burning. She moaned softly, and could hear the muffled sound of a baby crying.

The children.

She sat up carefully, glancing around warily, but Lucius and the children were gone. She could taste her own blood in her mouth and knew that her throat was so damaged from Lucius’ hands that it had started to bleed, and she coughed a little, specks of blood appearing on her lips. Reaching up, she tried to wipe them away, but her hands got tangled in something that was covering her.

A cloak. The one Draco had tossed around her shoulders the first time she had gone up onto the parapets. Draco’s cloak. His broomstick lay nearby and she felt panic rise inside her chest. She knew him; she knew he would fly into a rage if he thought someone had hurt her. He would want revenge. He was in danger.

She got weakly to her feet, picking up Axel and holding him in her trembling arms. Black spots danced in front of her eyes but she didn’t dare stop to rest and get stronger. She had to stop him, it was too dangerous.

She picked up her wand and then grabbed Draco’s Firebolt, climbing onto it and holding on with one hand, the other clutching the baby. She flew low to the ground in case she lost consciousness and fell off. She didn’t have to go far.

Hysterical screams that she recognized cut through the forest, and Ginny followed them, thankful, at least, that they drowned out Axel’s own crying. They were the children’s screams though, and she was terrified.

The sight that met her eyes when she finally found the camp was so gruesome and bloody that Ginny froze. Even Axel stopped wailing, as if sensing her shock.

Blood and rain had stained the ground crimson, and three bodies lay in the grass. She couldn’t recognize a single one of them. One was a decapitated body of a man she’d never seen but suspected was Lord Voldemort. One was so badly mangled that it resembled only a bloody mass of flesh. And the other was surrounded by a tight knot of hysterical children.

Ginny whimpered low in her throat and got off the broom shakily. She couldn’t make herself move forward, however; her knees refused to work. She just stood there in the rain and watched as the children tried frantically to wake Draco, who was lying, bloody and broken, on the ground.

She was distantly very proud when Belle stopped crying and turned to the other children, snapping, “Stop crying, it’s not helping a thing. Keela, go see if you can find some warm water to wash away the blood, the rain’s just messing it up. Miles, Iniko, we need bandages.”

“You don’t know how to bandage anyone up,” Keela said faintly.

“I can bloody try,” Belle growled, another characteristic she’d picked up from Draco.

The three children ran off to search the tents, and Lucky stood there, strangely silent, staring at Draco’s body. When Ginny realized why she wasn’t making a sound, she flinched, grabbing her wand and whispering the counter-curse to the silencing spell she’d put on the little girl. It was easier to deal with something as simple as that, something she knew the cure for, than dealing with Draco’s body, so still in the grass.

As soon as she realized the spell was off her, her head snapped up and she looked around wildly. When Lucky’s blue eyes lit on her, standing in the shadows, she whispered, “Ginny?” It was so soft that it could not be heard over the rain.

Belle’s hand fell onto Lucky’s shoulder, clutching it tightly as she followed Lucky’s gaze. When she saw Ginny standing there, pale and weak and holding the baby, a low, keening cry came from her lips. She was sobbing by the time she’d thrown herself across the camp and into Ginny’s arms, nearly knocking her over.

“Ginny!” Lucky shrieked this time, running towards her and hugging her fiercely.

Keela, Miles, and Iniko had heard the screams and came running as well, wrapping their arms around her and burying their faces in her muddy clothes, bursting into tears. Even Miles, who had stopped crying openly when he was four, cried. Axel screamed as well, uncomfortable being crushed by so many people, and Ginny closed her eyes, touching the children’s shoulders to reassure herself that they were all right.

It was easier than looking at Draco’s body.

“I knew you weren’t dead,” Belle whispered. “I knew you’d come and find us.”

“Draco…” Ginny whimpered.

Belle pulled away abruptly, glancing over her shoulder at him. Then she looked back, reaching up and stroking Ginny’s hair very gently. She was smiling. “He’s all right, Ginny, just knocked out. He’s all right.”

Ginny grabbed Belle’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “He’s not dead?”

And Belle shook her head. Ginny burst into tears and buried her face in Belle’s hair, crying so hard that her entire body shook, and Belle wrapped her arms around her, whispering that everything would be all right, just the way Ginny used to whenever Belle would wake up from a nightmare.

Ginny collected herself, took a deep breath, and handed the baby to Iniko, before hurrying over to Draco. Her own weakness was forgotten, Ginny fell to her knees beside him. He was covered in blood and she fervently hoped that none of it was his own.

She could tell that at least some of it was, however. There was a slash across one of his cheekbones that was still oozing blood, and Ginny asked the children to go search for bandages. They all went, except for Lucky, who was watching Ginny carefully. She said solemnly, “Ginny, the bad man said there were more bad men coming. That they would kill Draco.”

Ginny glanced up at her and nodded. “They must have spread out in groups to try to trap us,” she decided. “We’ve got to get out of here.” She was stroking Draco’s face gently as she spoke. “Where else is he hurt? It can’t only be his face, but I can’t see through the blood. He wouldn’t be unconscious if it was just the cut on his face.”

“I magicked him.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she looked up at Lucky again. She suddenly realized that Lucky had picked up a sword. “Where did you get that?” she asked quietly. “That’s Harry’s sword.”

Lucky shrugged. She needed both hands to hold the heavy sword, and she turned it over in her palms, inspecting the hilt. “Draco brought it. It was glowing with weird feelings, and I magicked them into Draco so he could fight the bad man. He chopped him apart.”

Glancing at Lucius’ mangled body, Ginny shuddered. “That must be what drained him,” she whispered. “Your magic.”

Lucky started to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I made him dead. I didn’t mean to. And I made you dead too.”

“Draco’s not dead, he’ll be all right, I think,” Ginny said quietly. “And you had nothing to do with what happened to me. I couldn’t tell him who you were, he would have hurt you. It wasn’t because of you, it wasn’t your fault.”

Shaking her head slowly, Lucky whispered, “I tied you. The bad man was hurting you and I could feel your feelings going quiet and I took them and tied them to my wand so that you wouldn’t go away and leave me here because I didn’t want you to die!”

Ginny’s mouth slowly opened, and then it closed again. “Lucky,” she said in a voice that was faint and filled with awe. “Lucky, you didn’t hurt me. You saved me.” She had been wondering how it was that she was still alive when Lucius had strangled her. She should have been dead, but somehow she had been able to come back. Lucky had used her magic to bind Ginny’s soul to Snape’s wand, which even now resided in Draco’s pocket. Ginny reached out a hand to the little girl and stroked her arm tenderly. “You saved me,” she said again.

Draco moaned a little, weakly, and Ginny touched his face gently, pushing his bloody hair back. “Draco,” she called. “It’s all right, you’re all right.”

His eyelashes fluttered a little and his eyes were very dark when he opened them. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on her face, and then he whispered, “Ginny? Ginny, Ginny, I’m sorry, you’re dead.”

Ginny was crying a little, even as she smiled at him. “I’m not,” she told him, leaning down and kissing his lips lightly. “I promise I’m not.” He tasted like blood and tears and turned his face so that his cheek rested in her palm, sighing a little as he lost consciousness again.

The children came running back, having collected water that had been kept warm inside the cooking tent, rags for cleaning away the blood, and bandages. Belle helped Ginny wash away the blood while the other children kept watch for the Death Eaters who were supposed to return at any moment.

Draco moaned a few times as she cleaned his wound, but he did not regain consciousness, and Ginny only cleaned his face. She stopped the bleeding as quickly as she could, whispering to Draco the whole time that he was all right, though he didn’t respond.

She had just finished, and was trying to think of the fastest way to get Draco and the children back to the castle, when Lucky made a small noise in the back of her throat and hissed, “They’re coming. I can feel them.”

They weren’t in sight just yet, and Ginny hurriedly got Miles and Iniko to help her lift Draco’s dead weight and hide him behind some of the tents. Then she and the children hid as well.

They watched as about twenty Death Eaters entered the camp. They were talking softly amongst themselves, and at first did not notice the bodies in the grass. When they did, they started swearing, glancing around in sudden fear that they would be next.

Ginny took a deep breath and was about to try casting a Stunning spell to take out as many of the Death Eaters as she could, when Lucky whispered, “Daddy?”

She was pale, using her magic so much already that she was very weak, and her eyes were fixed on one of the Death Eaters. Ginny grabbed her hand. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “I won’t let him touch you.”

“Search the camp!” one of the Death Eaters shouted. “We’ll find who murdered Lord Voldemort and punish them!”

“Who made you boss?” another one snapped petulantly.

The first one scowled. “I was third in command!”

“You were not! I was!”

They began arguing like children before one finally shouted, “All right! We’ll put it to a vote!”

They were voting when Ginny cast her first Stunning spell, hitting the one Lucky pointed out as her father so that even if they caught sight of the children, they wouldn’t know which was the Empath.

The Death Eaters blinked at Prescott, sprawled in the mud, and while they were shocked, Ginny whispered, “Lucky, can you do something? Magic them?”

Lucky pressed her lips and considered the emotions she could feel around them, looking for one she could use. “Hate,” she said softly. “They have a lot of hate.” Then she began channeling that hate back into them, intensifying it, making the Death Eaters forget about the threat of an unknown enemy and continue bickering amongst themselves.

For a few minutes, it looked as though they would all kill each other. Then Axel shrieked, breaking the spell, and the Death Eaters, furious, were following the sound.

Ginny acted on instinct, clutching her wand and darting out of hiding. She couldn’t let them find the children and Draco. She didn’t know how she was going to stop them, but she knew she had to try.

She was so weak that she could barely stand, but she glared at them defiantly.

“It’s a little girl,” one of the men sneered.

“Voldemort was killed by her?” another gasp.

“I’ll kill her,” a third hissed.

Someone took Ginny’s hand, and she glanced down to see Lucky, still dragging the huge sword, standing beside her. “Run,” she whispered, but Lucky just clung tighter to her hand. Ginny raised her wand, trying to think desperately of a spell that would protect them both from what she knew was coming, but nothing came to mind.

The closest Death Eater raised his wand, screaming, “Avada —”

“No,” Ginny whimpered, but there was a crack in the air, the sort of shift of air particles that only happened when very strong magic was being used, and Ginny expected to be dead. The Death Eater had not finished his curse, however, and his fingers limply dropped his wand. His face had gone pearly white, his eyes wide, staring at Ginny with something like reverence in his eyes. Ginny glanced from him to the rest of the Death Eaters nervously. They were all staring at her as if they were seeing her for the first time, and liked what they saw. Loved what they saw.

“Lucky, what did you do?” Ginny hissed.

Lucky was swaying on her feet, this last huge use of magic having drained her. She looked up at Ginny with eyes so dark they looked like bruises. “You have lots of love in you,” she said in a crackly voice. “I just borrowed it.” And then she fainted.

Ginny looked from Lucky, lying in the grass, to the children clustered behind her, staring at the Death Eaters in fear, and then someone touched her hair. She jerked away from the Death Eater, the one who had just tried to kill her, and whimpered, “Don’t.”

The Death Eater fell back. “Of course. Sorry,” he breathed worshipfully.

Ginny closed her eyes, sudden realization hitting her. Lucky had channeled the love that Ginny felt for the children and for Draco into the Death Eaters, and they, who had never felt love before, were now all stricken with love for her. They would do anything she said, she was sure.

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and smiled sweetly at them all, though the effort nearly made her sick. They all sucked in a tiny breath at her smile. “Will you help me?” she asked them, making sure to flutter her lashes becomingly. Instantly, they began to argue over who would get the privilege, and Ginny solved the issue by promising they could all help. She sent a few of them to find stretchers and then ordered them to carefully lift Lucky, Draco, and Prescott onto them. She was careful not to touch Draco in anyway that would inspire jealousy, because she knew if they noticed the depth of love for her that she felt for Draco, they would fly into a jealous rage. She asked them very prettily if they could carry the stretchers back to the castle for her, and of course they agreed. Ginny and the children, exhausted, wet from the rain, and sick of everything that had happened, led the contingent of Death Eaters back to the castle. It was nearly an hours walk, and it was late morning when they arrived, causing quite a stir. The sentries stared at Ginny and the children leading the group straight to the castle but did not challenge her. Maybe they read the exhaustion in her face.

The gates of Seandrar Castle were open. The defenders thought all the Death Eaters were gone, after all, and so Ginny just walked right in, the Death Eaters following her. The courtyard had been cleaned up, the bodies of the dead and injured carried away, and there was a shocked silence as the people of the castle suddenly realized that an outfit of Death Eaters had just walked right in and, more alarming, did not appear to be doing any harm. In fact, they were being led by children.

Charlie, who had been on guard in the gate tower, was the first to rush into the courtyard to see what was going on. When he saw Ginny, standing there looking like she was about to fall over, he shouted her name and ran towards her.

She smiled weakly at him but wouldn’t let him touch her. “If you hug me,” she said, “they’ll get jealous.”

He glanced from her to the Death Eaters. “Jealous?”

“They’re in love with me.”

Before she could explain further, chaos erupted as people came running, trying to find out exactly what was going on. Ginny and the children, numb and feeling hollow inside, just stood there, trying not to collapse, and finally, Dumbledore was there. He touched Ginny’s arm gently. “The dungeon has been readied,” he told her. “Ask them to go down there and tell them you’ll come and visit them later.”

She didn’t ask him how he knew what was going on, she just followed his orders, asking them to leave the stretchers, except Prescott’s, and follow Oliver to the dungeons. They did, happily, and as soon as they were gone, Ginny collapsed to her knees beside Draco, who was still unconscious. She didn’t care that he was bloody and filthy, she lay her head on his chest, and promptly fell asleep.

***

Ron’s body felt heavy and his eyes stung. It had only been a few days since the battle and Hermione’s death, and he was still in shock. He and Harry hadn’t spoken since they had both seen Hermione hit by the Killing Curse and come running. He couldn’t stand to look at Harry, knowing that Harry had thought there had been something going on between himself and Hermione. There hadn’t. They were friends, friends as they had been since first year, and Ron couldn’t help blaming Harry for her death. Somehow, it was Harry’s fault.

He stepped into the infirmary. He had been told that Draco would wake up today; he had been unconscious since Ginny had brought him back from wherever they had gone. No one knew the whole story yet, the children had only been able to offer hysterical accounts of it. They had been terrified by what they had seen, but were handling it remarkably well. Children of war were often desensitized to blood and gore.

Ginny hadn’t been able to tell anyone what had happened because she was still asleep. Though relatively uninjured, she was exhausted. Dumbledore had ordered that she not be disturbed, even by the children, though Ron knew that the one called Belle often slipped into Ginny’s room, as if to reassure herself that Ginny was still there, and alive. Ron knew, because he did it too.

The infirmary was nearly empty. There weren’t that many injuries from the battle that hadn’t been easily healed, and Ron knew that was because most people who had been hit at all had been hit with the Killing Curse, and no amount of magic would cure them. Casualties were few, and he knew they owed it to the fact that the battle had been a decoy, and that somehow Ginny had captured the most dangerous Death Eaters, who were now locked far below, awaiting trial.

Draco’s bed was the one at the back of the room, and Ron made his way there, walking past the other beds where people lay asleep, bandaged, or crying softly.

He pulled the curtains around Draco’s bed, sat heavily in a chair pulled up to the bedside, and waited for Draco to wake up.

He did not have to wait long. The injuries that had kept Draco out this long were more emotional than physical, and Madam Pomfrey had aided his need to sleep with magic. She had finally let the Sleep spells wear off today, and Draco moaned a little as he gradually woke. The sound made Ron flinch, maybe because a sound of pain from Draco, who never seemed to feel anything at all besides coldness and condescension, was just so wrong that Ron did not even want to hear it.

Draco’s eyes flew open suddenly, and they were glazed as he stared up at the ceiling for a moment, blankly. Then they turned black with sudden pain and he swore softly, closing them again.

Ron was worried. “Malfoy?” he asked softly. Draco’s eyes flew open at his voice and they fixed on his face. “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

Draco flinched at the question. He looked so raw and in pain that Ron was sure he had some injury somewhere that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t seen. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “I’m sorry.”

Ron thought he was talking about Hermione. He flinched. “Everyone’s sorry she’s dead, it won’t bring her back.”

Draco’s eyes shone brightly with tears, and Ron was shocked. Draco didn’t cry. “I loved her,” he said softly, voice trembling. “You have to believe me, I did.”

“And what about my sister?” Ron snapped, suddenly furious. “She loved you too. She told me to tell you that when she gave me the lock of her hair to give you, but I couldn’t get the bloody words out. Now I’m bloody glad about that, if you were in love with someone else. She loved Harry,” he hissed.

“No,” Draco whimpered. He hadn’t even registered most of what Ron had said. “Ginny loved me. God, Ron, you have to believe me, I would have saved her, I would have. If only I’d gotten there sooner, she wouldn’t be…she wouldn’t be dead.”

Ron sat back slowly, suddenly understanding. “Draco,” he said, his voice suddenly very gentle. “Ginny’s all right.”

Draco closed his eyes weakly. “She’s not,” he whispered. “I saw her. She was dead. I told her it wasn’t allowed but she didn’t listen.”

“Apparently she did,” Ron said with a small, wry smile. “Because she’s alive. She’s in her room, asleep. She’s been sleeping for days. And all the children are all right as well. The Death Eater officers are locked in the dungeon, and Voldemort is dead.”

Draco grabbed Ron’s hand; his own were trembling. “You swear it?” he said in a shaking voice. “You swear Ginny’s all right?”

Ron squeezed Draco’s hand, not even wondering at the strangeness of it. Any animosity he had felt towards Draco had disappeared the second he had seen Draco about to cry because he thought Ginny was dead. That had proven Draco to Ron the way nothing else could have. “I swear it,” he said solemnly. “Her throat was bruised, Madam Pomfrey healed it, and now she’s sleeping. Pomfrey says she’ll probably sleep for a few days more, she’s exhausted, but she should be fine.”

Draco let go of Ron’s hand and fell back onto the bed, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. “Good,” he whispered. Then he slipped back into sleep, and Ron scowled wearily, running a hand through his red hair. He hadn’t even gotten to discuss what he had come to talk about. Hermione, and what had really happened the night she died, what she had really said. Looking at Draco, sleeping with a tiny Malfoy smirk on his lips, Ron finally decided it didn’t matter. The last thing she had said was that she loved Harry and always would. That was the only thing keeping Harry alive now, and Ron decided that was all they needed to know.

He left the infirmary quietly, lost in thought, and feeling just a little better.

****

One moment, Ginny was deep in a dreamless sleep, and the next, her eyes were open and she was awake. It was dawn, and her muscles ached fiercely enough to tell her that she had been asleep for a long time, but none of that mattered. She crawled out of bed, her legs trembling but holding her. She dressed quickly in a skirt and a blouse picked randomly from the wardrobe and, barefooted, left the room, her hair a wild mess. She didn’t care. She had to see Draco, to make sure he was all right.

She ran down the hall, the stone floor cold against her feet, one hand brushing the wall. She went to Draco’s bedroom and threw the door opened. The bed was empty and the room smelled dusty, as if no one had been there in days.

Whimpering softly, Ginny left the room at a run, heading for the infirmary. She stepped into the room and knew, instantly without knowing how she knew, that Draco was there, in the back. Without even glancing at the other people, Ginny slowed to a walk, silently slipping towards him, terrified that he’d still be covered in blood like she remembered.

Draco was asleep and she studied his face in the weak daylight for a moment. The cut on his face had left a pale, thin white scar along his cheekbone that she could barely see, and she traced it with her fingernail. Otherwise, he looked exactly the same, and she watched him for what seemed like hours, standing at the foot of his bed as the sun rose. Then, jerking the curtains closed around his bed, she climbed into it, curling up beside him, burying her face in his shoulder. She cast a quick silencing charm around the bed so as not to disturb the other people in the room, and burst into tears.

The sound of her crying woke Draco, and for a moment, he was disoriented. The curtains were closed and it was dark around his bed, but a second later he understood. He could tell it was Ginny because she smelled the way only Ginny smelled. Like strawberries and rain.

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. She cried for a long time, but he really didn’t mind. She was alive and he was holding her again and that was the only thing that mattered.

She quieted, though she was still breathing heavily, and pulled away. They lay that way for a while, face-to-face listening to each other breathe in the darkness, neither quite knowing what to say to break the gentle silence. Nothing could possibly explain how scared they’d been or how they never wanted to be any further apart than they were right then, close enough to feel each other breathe.

Finally, Draco reached forward, his hand trembling the tiniest bit, and traced her lower lip. Ginny sucked in a heavy, shaking breath, and closed her eyes.

“Ginny,” he called very softly. “Are you all right? They told me you were all right but I didn’t believe them.”

Her hand stroked his face, still tracing his scar, and she leaned forward, kissing him very gently, her lips just barely touching his. “I am,” she whispered, her breath brushing his lips. “I promise.”

His chest shook with some sort of intense emotional pain he didn’t know the name of, and he kissed her back, his hand on her face, still sticky with tears. He poured every bit of fear, pain, and love he possessed into the kiss, which was so gentle and aching that Ginny drew in a painful breath, returning it with the same intensity. All the emotions of the past few days were swirled together into that kiss, all of the grief, agony, and tears. It was soft, aching, and fragile, and explained far more eloquently than words ever could the way Draco had felt at finding her strangled on the rocks, and how Ginny had died inside when she had seen him bloody and broken on the ground. But none of it mattered anymore, because it was over and they were together and nothing would ever come that close to tearing them apart again.

His hand had slid up her back, under her shirt, and was tracing her spine, sending shivers through her body as she kissed him, and the only sound was their breathing. Ginny tangled her fingers in his silky hair and slid closer, moaning softly as Draco shifted a little, so he was half on top of her. The kiss had become something more, something hotter that made it hard to get a full breath as Draco’s tongue slipped in her mouth and his hands ran all over her, and Ginny didn’t care. She never wanted to let him go.

The sun had risen high enough to shine through the windows, hitting the curtains around Draco’s bed and casting shadows on them as the other patients woke and Pomfrey began moving through the room. No one came near Draco’s bed however, and the silencing charm Ginny had cast around the bed before she had started to cry prevented them from hearing the soft purring noises she was making as Draco kissed her. The warm sunlight on the curtains cast everything in a hazy halo of gold, but Ginny didn’t notice. Nothing mattered anymore, all the bloodshed and the fear slipped away, and the kiss that had started out so gently had become something more instinctive and wild. He bit the hollow of her throat lightly, and Ginny whimpered. His fingers were undoing the buttons on her blouse and she could hardly breathe, lost in what he was doing.

“Malfoy, I can’t find –” Ron threw the curtains open. “…Ginny.” He cleared his throat, his face turning a terrible shade of red. His mouth opened and closed in shock, and Ginny squealed, burying her face in Draco’s shoulder. Draco, whose shirt had somehow been pulled off and lay on the floor nearby, glanced over his shoulder, waiting for Ron to grab him and throw him off his sister, shrieking that Weasley skin could not be defiled by Malfoy hands. He didn’t. He just stood there in shock, and Draco remembered him saying that maybe Draco should fall in love with Ginny, that it would be good for her. With an amused grin, Draco drawled, “Piss off, Weasley.”

Ron swallowed hard, nodded quickly, stammered an apology, and jerked the curtains shut.

For a moment, Ginny didn’t move, and Draco was content to lie there and enjoy the feel of her underneath him, her hands clutching his bare shoulders and her face pressed against his chest.

“Oh god,” Ginny mumbled finally. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” Draco waited until she pulled away, her head falling back to the bed. He was resting on his elbows, looking down at her thoughtfully. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen from kissing him, and a fiery blush, almost as bad as Ron’s had been, had turned her face bright red. Draco finally rolled to the side, laughing quietly and pulling her against him.

She scoffed but didn’t try to pull away, only tilted her face up to see him better. “Maybe you’re used to embarrassing scenes like this, being a God of Seduction or whatever, but that was mortifying.”

He tucked some of her hair behind her ear and said easily, “I’m not a God of Seduction anymore. I’m afraid now that my perfect face has been irreparably scarred, no one will be able to look at me.” He didn’t sound disappointed at the thought.

Ginny traced the faint line again. “It makes you look dangerous,” she admitted quietly. “If anything, it makes me want you more, so I can only imagine what girls who don’t know what an insufferable git you are will think.” She paused, considering for a moment, and then said, “Honestly, I think I’m beginning to understand why you find so many people wanting you so tiresome.”

“Why?” he asked sleepily, sudden exhaustion slipping over him. “I’m the only one who wants you.”

Ginny smiled slowly, catlike, and said, “I’ll disregard how insultingly that comment could be taken, Draco, because I know it’s wrong. In fact, there is a whole contingent of Death Eaters in the dungeon who are in love with me at the moment.”

“What?”

Ginny snuggled closer to him and smiled in satisfaction. “Surely you didn’t think you were the only one who wanted me? I’m an all-sexified, all-knowing goddess of seduction and sarcasm, after all.”

“You’re not serious,” he said mildly, frowning. “A whole contingent?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ginny.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Yes?”

“You’rve not serious.”

“I am.”

He swore and then said, “What did you do?”

“Seduced them with my wit and charm.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m drawn to dangerous men, as you can probably tell.”

“I’ll kill them all,” he snarled, moving to leave the bed.

Ginny rolled her eyes, wrapping her arms around him and holding on tightly. “Don’t go, it doesn’t matter, I love you.”

Draco froze. “What?”

“Don’t go,” she repeated. “It’s just a spell, Lucky channeled all the love I have for you into them and it hasn’t worn off yet, but don’t worry; it doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore, don’t worry.” She snuggled her face into the side of his neck.

Draco took a deep, steadying breath, and gently rested one hand on her back, between her shoulder blades. “You love me?” he asked, very quietly.

Ginny sat up, her hair even wilder than when she had first woken up. She started to make a flippant comment and then saw a strange vulnerability flash in Draco’s eyes. She leaned up and kissed him very gently. “More than anything,” she whispered.

He crushed her to him, holding her very tightly and burying his face in her hair. He didn’t say anything, just held her, and Ginny suffered the awkward, tight hug for a few moments before she asked nervously, “Draco, don’t you love me too?”

“I thought I was going to die,” he said at length. “Not when the Death Eaters attacked the castle, or when I fought my father and didn’t know what I was doing, or when Voldemort tried to kill me. When I found you lying there and I tried to wake you and I couldn’t. I didn’t even want to breathe anymore, because what was the point in breathing if you weren’t there? And I didn’t want to be alive anymore because I’d have to look around and you wouldn’t be there to look with me, and nothing mattered anymore because everything inside started going numb. If that was what love is supposed to feel like, Ginny, then I do, but really,” he was sounding quite desperate now, and squeezing her tighter. “If that’s what love is supposed to be, I don’t even know if I want to feel it.”

She reached up and stroked his face calmingly, kissing him. “Draco, it’s all right. I’m all right. And that’s not all love feels like; that’s just the bad side. There are a thousand other parts to it, and I’ll show you, it’ll be all right. I promise. Don’t be scared.”

His eyes flew wide and darkened dangerously, a tiny smirk twisting his lips. Ginny smiled a little; she’d known he’d react to her words that way. “Scared?” he sneered. “I’m not scared.”

“Good,” she mumbled sleepily, resting her cheek on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. “You’re lucky I’m so happy you’re not dead, and I’m willing not to be offended that you seem to think being in love with me is a bad thing. You’ll like being in love with me, I promise.”

“I already do,” he admitted quietly, playing with her hair.

Pomfrey had been making her rounds, checking on all the patients, and she threw the curtains open, stepping close to the bed frowning over a clipboard. She looked up at the bed and Ginny just blinked at her, startled. Then, with a yelp, she leapt off the bed, quickly doing up the buttons on her shirt that Draco had managed to undo. He was laughing and Pomfrey was gaping, her face going red with anger.

“What’s going on here?” she snapped. “No, honestly, spare me the details. I’ll have you know, Miss Weasley, that Draco needs rest, as do you! This is hardly the time for…for…” she waved her hand wildly. “Trysts in the hospital wing!”

“We didn’t,” Ginny began breathlessly, flustered. Draco didn’t help her, he was watching her as she tried to explain herself with a lopsided, arrogant grin.

Pomfrey cut her off. “I said spare me the details,” she said, though the acid had gone out of her tone. She was glancing at Draco, sprawled lazily on the bed, shirtless, his arms crossed behind his head, and seemed to have lost her train of thought.

Ginny shot Draco an ‘I told you so’ look, to which he replied with a graceful, negligent shrug. “I better go check on the children,” she growled, stomping from the room. Draco watched her go, still smirking, before his eyes flicked back to Pomfrey, who seemed to have collected herself. She tossed his shirt at him with a sniff and a cold, “Clothe yourself, Mr. Malfoy, and don’t let such an indecent display happen again in my wing of the castle.”

“Or what?” Draco drawled, even as he pulled his shirt back on. “Ten points from Slytherin?”

“And Gryffindor,” she snapped, stalking away.