Learning to Breathe

When he awakes, the first thing that he's aware of is that her fingers are no longer entwined with his. After he realizes this, he feels the coolness of the sheets where her body should be. He sits up quickly and looks around, only to find that she's sitting in front of the fire, her quill moving rapidly across the page of her journal.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, and the motion catches her attention. She looks up and smiles, and that's all it takes to make his heart leap into his throat.

"You're awake," she says, sticking the quill inside her journal and snapping it shut. She rises from her spot on the floor and moves to sit beside him on the bed.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks, taking in her now-braided hair.

"Not long - maybe a half an hour," she says, shrugging. She looks down at her lap for a moment, and he wonders if something's wrong. Has he done something to her that he is not aware of? Dread pools in his stomach as he begins to wonder if he's managed to somehow touch her inappropriately in his sleep, or if she's finally getting upset about the towel incident that morning - or even if she's upset about sleeping in his tower for the last two nights.

"I wanted to ask you something," she begins hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"You've been really nice to me these last few days, and I can't thank you enough for that." His heart sinks at these words; they sound so much like goodbye that it hurts.

"It's no problem," he says, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"I just... it's just that I..." She shifts in her seat. "I wondered if you might let me stay up here with you for the rest of the holiday break." Her cheeks are red now, and her neck is splotchy with her embarrassment. He is shocked into silence; he had been anticipating goodbye. She glances up at him, and he is struck by how shy she appears. He knows that she is nothing even remotely close to being shy, and so her look amuses him.

"You want to stay around me that long?" he asks carefully.

She nods. "I do."

"Why?"

"I've had so much fun staying up here with you," she admits, looking down at her lap again. She refuses to tell him that she never wants to leave - things here are perfect, and being alone with him has meant everything to her. It feels like paradise in his tower; there is no one to pass judgement on her or tell her what to do the way that everyone else seems to - Draco simply lets her be. "And I can't help but notice that when I'm with you, I don't have problems sleeping. At all."

"I wonder why that is," he murmurs thoughtfully. "I haven't had any problems, either."

"I'll understand if you tell me no," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I know that you've been up here alone for a while, so you must be used to it, and I'm a big intrusion on that solitude, but-"

"I'd like it if you stayed," he interrupts, his voice low and soft. Her mouth moves for a few moments, even though no sound comes out.

Finally, she finds her voice. "You would?"

"I enjoy having you here," he admits, meeting her eyes.

"You do?" she breathes.

"Yes."

"Oh." She gives him an embarrassed smile. "Well, should we go back to Gryffindor tower so I can get more clothes?"

"That would probably be a good idea, unless you want to walk around naked." He smirks at her as he says this, and she bites back a smile.

"You mean like you did?"

"Ha ha." His voice is sarcastic, but his smile is genuine. "As if you didn't enjoy it."

She blushes and shakes her head before heading to retrieve her trainers from the floor. Something dawns on him then, and the thought makes his heart race. Perhaps her blush means something more than she lets on. After all, she has let him hold her every night that they've been together, hasn't she? And last night, she was the one to instigate contact. She's held his hand, and she's hugged him.

He turns these things over in his mind, and a funny feeling starts in the pit of his stomach. He knows that he should just stop thinking about them, but he can't, and he doesn't want to. She has already given him hope when he shouldn't have it. He knows that he doesn't deserve even her friendship, so how could he dare to ask for more?

He needs to get closer to her. He needs to break down the barriers he's set up for himself, and find out if there is something more there. The last few days have meant more to him than any of the wealth that he used to possess, and he knows that that's saying something.

She stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

"Bossy today, aren't we?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm bossy every day, remember? It's what I do, and I do it well."

"Agreed." He rises to his feet and follows her out the door and down the stairwell. They are halfway to Gryffindor Tower when she freezes mid-step. "What's wrong?"

She grabs his arm and pulls him behind a statue, and presses a finger to his lips. He remains silent, and a moment later, they watch two fourth-year Ravenclaws walk by. When their footsteps can't be heard any longer, she breathes a sigh of relief. For his part, Draco is too aware of their closeness to be bothered by the other students.

"Sweet Circe, that was close!" she exclaims, leaning forward and dropping her forehead against his shoulder. Instinctively, his arms come up and wrap around her, holding her close. She does not seem to mind this, and stays there for several moments before looking up at him. "Still feeling brave, or should we turn back?"

"We've come too far to turn back now," he says softly. His words have a double entendre, and he wonders if she will catch it. She nods and smiles at him.

"I think you're right." Disappointment rolls over him in waves when she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the small nook. His disappointment ebbs a bit, though, when she retains her tight grip on his hand all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

This time the Fat Lady is awake and alert, and when Ginny and Draco stop in front of her, she purses her lips and frowns at them. "He's not a Gryffindor."

"How can you say that?" Ginny gasps, feigning surprise. "Just look at him! You've seen him a hundred times in the last six years, and now you're pretending not to know his name?"

Draco is highly amused, but has to bite back his smile for the Fat Lady's benefit. She frowns and eyes him severely. Ginny wags her finger at the portrait. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Poor Colin will be scarred for life, and all because of you!"

The Fat Lady relents and lets them through. Once they have reached Ginny's room and shut the door behind them, Draco turns to stare at her. "You passed me off as Creevey?"

"He's the first boy who came to mind with blonde hair," she says apologetically. "Besides, she knows that Colin follows me around sometimes, and I thought it would cause less trouble."

"I wasn't following- wait, Creevey follows you? As in, like a puppy dog?"

"Hopelessly," she laughs, rummaging through her trunk.

"That sounds very stalker-ish to me. You should report him to your head of house." He sits down on her bed, watching her as she works.

"What's she going to do, put him in detention for making eyes at me?" she snorts. Draco's eyebrows shoot up.

"You like him," he accuses. She stops what she is doing and puts her hands on her hips again.

"No, I don't!"

"You do! You like Creevey falling all over you!"

"Draco Malfoy, if you don't take that back, I'll..." her voice trails off as she tries to come up with a suitable threat, and he sniggers at her.

"You'll what?"

She looks triumphant as she answers him. "I'll stay down here in my room instead of with you."

He is up off of the bed and in front of her so quickly that it startles her. He is so close that their noses are almost touching. "Don't threaten me, Princess," he hisses, his eyes narrowing. She blinks in surprise. "I don't take well to threats."

"Fine," she says, her voice steady. She points toward the door. "Get out."

"My pleasure," he says, giving her a look full of disdain before he turns and walks out the door.

He goes back to his tower and sits down heavily on the bed. He has lost his temper, and now she isn't coming back. He can't bear to be here without her now; her loss leaves him room feeling cold and empty. He knows that there will be no sleep for him tonight.

He stands and starts to head toward the fireplace when his eyes fall on it. There on the floor next to her side of the bed (how odd that she should have a side of his bed) is her journal. She is not here now, and it doesn't seem very likely that she will return any time soon, so he does not feel any trepidation in picking it up and opening it.

26 December

This has been the best Christmas I can ever remember having - even better than the one when I was thirteen and Mum and Dad finally bought me my own broom. Draco has let me stay in his room with him, and it's been like some sort of dream. We seem to be getting along famously, and he's so much fun to be around. He's intelligent and fun and... well, enough gushing. You get the idea - I like him. A lot.

I don't know if it's healthy for me to get this attached after such a short time, but so few things make me truly happy anymore that maybe I should just let it happen. I feel so safe when I'm in his arms at night. It's odd, to think that he can be so gentle, but he is. The only thing that I wonder about is whether or not he likes it as much as I do. The first night I think he did it just to humor me, but the second night... I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up, or anything. I know that when the term starts, I won't be able to stay up here with him, and I don't know if he'd even want me to, anyway.

I had the strangest dream on Christmas Eve, too. I dreamt that while he held me, he kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and my heart was beating so fast that it hurt. I've never had a kiss like that in my entire life, so why should a dream have me so frustrated and frazzled? I feel like my nerves are all jangled and on edge around him now, because I am curious to know what kissing him would feel like. Is this normal for all girls, to be curious about kissing their male friends? Because I have never been curious about anyone else but Harry.

I kissed Dean Thomas and Michael Corner when I was going out with them, but they were horrible, wet, sloppy kisses that made me just want to wipe my mouth when they stopped. This wasn't an open-mouthed kiss, but it made me glad that I was lying down, because I could feel my knees getting weak.

I suppose that I should just forget about it, because I've had dreams about him before, and I know those weren't true. Maybe it's just being so close to him that's doing it.

He drops the book as though it's burned his hands, and he stares at it there on the floor. She was half-awake when he kissed her, and she thought it to be a dream. She isn't upset, like he thought she'd be; she seems excited in her journal. He closes his eyes and behind them he can almost see her face flushing with pleasure as she writes about it.

And she's had dreams about him before! He lets his mind wander to a wicked place before snapping back into reality. She likes him, and she is his only friend - and he has just successfully pushed her away. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and it weighs so heavily on him that he has to sit down.

He sits at his desk, and his eyes land on the box containing the journal that she gave him. He picks up a quill and dips it in ink, then opens the book and starts to write.

I think I may be falling in love with Ginny Weasley.

He doesn't know what else to write, but for some reason it feels good to write those words in the book. It feels good to get them out. Keeping them inside would be physically painful, and he knows that they would have eaten away at him.

The only thing he has to do now is win her back and apologize for his behavior. He cringes at the thought of apologizing; he's never been very good at it. Just like saying thank you, he knows that no one has ever believed that he's been sorry for anything. Most of the time, he wasn't sorry, and he knows that that is why. This time, he is truly, devastatingly sorry, and he wants her to know. He needs to prove it to her.

He rises from his chair and leaves the safety of his tower, heading toward the kitchens. He does not take his time and tickle the pear more than once; he is a man on a mission, and he wants to get it done as quickly as possible. After all, the sooner he apologizes to her, the sooner he'll have her back.

He manages to convince the house elves that he needs certain items for the friend he's been coming down there with, saying that she is sick and he's taking her food to eat while he visits with her. He knows that they are questioning this logic and wondering why his friend isn't in the infirmary, but they live to serve and give him everything he asks of them. He makes the trek back to Gryffindor Tower with mingled anticipation and fear. When he reaches the Fat Lady, he gives her the password. Either she is not paying attention or she remembers him being there less than an hour ago, because she lets him in without incident.

He climbs the stairs to her room, his anxiety growing with every step. His feet feel leaden as he wonders if she will accept his apology or not. He wonders if this is how she felt coming to his tower all those times, and if it is, how she made it through. He reaches her door sooner than he thought he would, and he knocks lightly.

"Who is it?" her voice is muffled, but he can hear her surprise.

"It's me," he calls back. For an excruciating minute, he thinks that she is just going to ignore him and let him stand alone in the corridor. Then he hears her turning the knob, and she opens the door, pulling him inside.

"Are you mad?" she asks angrily. "What in the bloody hell are you trying to do? Someone could have seen you!"

"As opposed to the other times I've left my room?" he snaps back.

"But you've never come in here alone!" she protests.

"Well, now I have."

"How did you get in here, anyway?" she asks curiously.

"I'm Creevey, remember?" He shrugs. She shakes her head.

"Should have known that one was going to backfire."

"Look, I came here because I wanted to say something to you."

"Well, go ahead," she sighs. He frowns at her.

"Don't tell me what to do, Ginny."

"If you'd just do it, I wouldn't have to." At this, a grin spreads across his face. He remembers this; it feels familiar. The smile that tugs at her lips tells him that she's already forgiven him, but he still needs to tell her.

"Alright, bossy."

"Prat."

"Weasel."

"Ferret."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Go on," she says, gesturing grandiosely.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I snapped the way I did," he says hesitantly. "I had no right to act that way. I know that you were only teasing me - I don't know why I took it so seriously."

"It's fine," she says softly, waving her hand. "You don't have to apologize to me. Everyone loses their temper sometimes."

"I brought a peace offering," he says. She eyes the basket with interest.

"What's in it?"

"Dinner."

"Oh," she says, smiling. He fingers the handle of the basket nervously, knowing that the worst part is next. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Will you still stay with me?"

"Of course I will, you twit," she says, an incredulous smile on her face. "I would have hunted you down later, like it or not. You told me you wanted me to stay, and I'm not that easy to get rid of. I'm like doxies; I always come back."

He laughs at this. It is nearly impossible for him to be ill-tempered around her. She brings light and laughter with her everywhere she moves.

"Now, about dinner," she says, standing.

"In the tower?" he suggests. She picks up the bag of clothes that she's finished packing, and links her arm with the one he proffers to her.

"I thought you'd never ask."

His steps are light as they make their way back to his room, and he feels almost giddy. As soon as they are inside his room, she puts her bag down next to her side of the bed, and he spreads a blanket on the floor. She watches with growing curiosity as he begins to place the food on the blanket.

"What's this?"

"A picnic," he says, hoping that she won't think that it's stupid. For the finishing touch, he pulls a long, tapered candle from the basket and sits it in the middle of the blanket before lighting it.

"I'm impressed," she says, her eyes a bit wider than usual. "What's the occasion?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you knew how sorry I was." She sits down across from him, and smiles.

"We should fight more often. I like this making up thing."

"Yes, but I don't like the fighting part." She agrees, and they eat. She is surprised at all of the food he's amassed, and she comments on it.

"You're full of surprises," she says, relishing a mouthful of pie. He chuckles at the look of rapture on her face.

"As are you, my friend."

When they are finished eating, he clears the things away, and she folds the blanket up. She gives him a sideways glance and smiles to herself. He knows that he is not meant to see the smile, but he does.

"What?" he asks with a half-smile of his own.

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

"Come on, tell me."

"Well, that was rather romantic, wasn't it?" Her cheeks turn scarlet as she speaks, and she doesn't meet his eyes.

"Did it bother you?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

"No," she says quickly. He opens the door to his closet, and she places the blanket on the shelf. "I know it's silly to even think things like that," she says dismissively. "Thank you for dinner. You really didn't have to, you know."

"I know. I wanted to."

"I'm glad you did. I didn't like the thought of fighting with you - it made my stomach hurt." She puts her hands lightly on her stomach as she speaks, as if to emphasize her words.

Draco is amazed. He remembers stories that his Mother used to tell him when he was young, to help him get to sleep. She wove intricate stories about love, and told him that when it happened to him, he would know what it was, without a doubt. She never told him, though, how fast it could happen. As he watches Ginny comb the braid out of her hair with her fingers, he feels it.

Somehow she has managed to impart some of her light to him.

She turns and catches him looking at her, and instantly she looks concerned. "Are you all right, Draco?"

"I'm fine," he says, nodding. He turns and retrieves his night clothes from the dresser, then goes into the loo to change. When he comes back out, she has already changed into her pyjamas as well. Tonight they are different; she is not wearing the baggy, worn flannels. Tonight she is wearing a very long t-shirt that says "Quidditch players do it better."

"Sorry," she says sheepishly, pointing to her shirt. "It used to be Charlie's, and he outgrew it. It's one of my favorite things in the whole world. I hope it's not inappropriate - I can change, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No," he says, when he finally finds his voice. "It's fine." The shirt does make him uncomfortable, just not in the way that he's sure she meant. His blood is rushing away from his head so quickly that he's starting to feel lightheaded.

He watches as she climbs into bed, and he glimpses the tiniest bit of her lower thigh before she pulls the coverlet up. He closes his eyes and swallows hard; how is he going to be able to sleep next to her, knowing that she is only half-clothed? And what happens if she accidentally brushes up against him, and he touches the bare flesh of her legs? It takes a tremendous effort, but he squashes these thoughts down and climbs into bed next to her. She extinguishes the candle on her side, and he does the same with the one on his night stand.

"Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Ginny." He wonders if she heard the trembling of his voice, but she doesn't appear to have noticed. If she does, she doesn't say anything or call it to his attention, and he is grateful for that. He already feels weak enough around her without her knowing that he feels that way, too.

She rolls onto her left side and faces away from him. His arms ache to hold her close, and he longs to have the sweet scent of her hair closer than it is. Very hesitantly, he reaches out and touches her back.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Nothing is wrong," he says quietly. "I just wondered why you were so far away." The words roll off of his tongue before he has a chance to stop them. She is quiet for a moment.

"Do you want me closer?" His heart threatens to break free of his chest, it is beating so quickly.

"Yes."

"How's this?" she asks, moving around. He can feel her warmth nearby, but it is still not close enough.

"A bit closer." She shifts and suddenly she is right there beside him. The exposed parts of their arms are touching, sending a shiver up his spine.

"Like this?"

He reaches out and pulls her closer. Now she is resting with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, with the length of her pressed up against his left side. She sucks in a quick breath that he doesn't miss, and he knows that she must be wondering what's gotten into him. He reaches his right hand over to cover hers.

"Like this," he whispers.

"Draco-"

"Ssh," he says, cutting her off. "We're just going to sleep, is all. I sleep better when I'm holding you." He doesn't know why he's being so open with her; he supposes it is a combination of the protection of darkness and the fatigue that he feels. Either way, he is not worried about her reaction. He has read her journal, and he knows that she is harboring some sort of feelings for him, and that fortifies him.

He raises the hand of the arm that she's lying on and begins to stroke her hair gently. She snuggles closer to him, extending her arm to stretch as far over his chest as she can. She gives him a tight squeeze one time.

"You're the best friend I have right now, do you realize that?" she whispers.

"I can safely say the same of you."

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Will you ever go back among the rest of the students?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly. At one point before he started tutoring her, he would have given an emphatic no to anyone who asked him. Now that he has a friend in her, he is not so sure. "Do you think I should?"

"It would be nice to see you between classes and talk to you."

"Wouldn't your brother and your friends get angry if they knew about it?"

"I don't really care if they would or not," she says fiercely. "You're my friend. They don't know you, and they can't dictate who I do or don't speak to."

He grins into the darkness at this. She is every inch the wildcat when she is upset, and he likes to think that she would not hesitate to stand up to her friends when it comes to him.

"Would you still be ashamed to be seen with me?" she whispers. He stops combing his fingers through her hair and sits up to light the candle. When he does, he can see the unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

"No," he denies vehemently. "How can you say that? I'm not ashamed of being your friend."

"Even if Blaise or Millicent see you with me? Or the rest of the school?"

"Not to anyone," he swears. "Who do I have to answer to, if I do walk with you or talk to you in the hallways? Besides, Draco Malfoy does what he bloody well wants to do, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Everyone knows that." She smiles at this.

"You're right," she says, shaking her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I know that you don't want to be around the rest of the students yet. Ignore me." She waves her hand dismissively, and he puts the candle out.

He lies back down and she resumes the position she held before, snuggled up against his side and her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?"

"Everything. Dinner. This."

"I should be thanking you, not the other way around," he says, playing with her hair again. He feels her shiver beside him, and it makes him smile stupidly. "It's nice having a friend."

"It is, isn't it?" She yawns, and before long, she is asleep. He is not far behind her, and drifts off minutes later.

Sometime during the night, he awakens to a strange weight on his legs. He tries to move, but he can't. He realizes suddenly that in her sleep, she has thrown her leg across his. He smirks at this, until he realizes that her knee is near his waist. The bare flesh of her leg is within reach, and even though he is still half-asleep, he can't fight the temptation to touch it.

Slowly his hand moves towards her leg. He pauses once when she sighs in her sleep - but when he is sure that she is not going to wake up, he lets his hand trail down further. His fingertips brush against her thigh, and heat floods his body. His veins are flooded with molten lava as he opens his hand and rests his palm on the smooth skin of her thigh.

He runs his hand downward, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his hand. He wonders what sort of noises she would make if she were awake, and if she'd allow him to do this. She shifts slightly, and he withdraws his hand. His heart is pounding wildly.

He feels her move, and hears her yawn. He feigns sleep and goes still as he hears her gasp. She moves her leg away quickly and sighs. He wishes desperately that he could see her face; he wants to know if she's upset or embarrassed, or something else entirely.

His eyes fly open in the darkness as he feels her fingertips brush against his cheek lightly. The next thing he knows, her thumb is sweeping across his lower lip. He is fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, and the thought crosses his mind that she may have done this before. He is awash with disappointment when she pulls her hand away, but feels better in the next minute when she snuggles up to him.

He is surprised when he feels her leg drape over him again, and it makes him giddy to know that this time, she's done it on purpose. He sees it as a highly possessive gesture, and wonders if she means it that way. He wants to ask her, but he doesn't want to let her know that he's been awake while it's happened.

He manages to go back to sleep, though now his sleep is fitful. All he can think of is her and wanting to touch her again. He drifts between sleep and wakefulness, and he isn't sure which is which.

Suddenly he is aware of something cool and moist on his forehead. He opens his eyes slowly, and finds that she is sitting beside him on the bed, smiling gently. Whatever is on his forehead is being held there by her.

"Hey," she says softly. "Feeling better?"

"W-what?" he stutters. His throat is too dry to speak more.

"You woke up yesterday with a really high fever." He is shocked at this; he's been asleep for a whole day? And if he was sick, why didn't she go and get Madam Pomfrey? "I went and got you a fever-reducing potion and some other medicines. You'll be good as new in no time."

He is overwhelmed with emotion at the thought that she has been by his side taking care of him this whole time. The only other person in his entire life who's cared for him when he was sick was his Mother. Ginny leaves the cool thing on his head and walks to the fireplace, unaware that his eyes follow her the entire time.

She tugs on the gilt rope to summon the house elves. When one appears, she gives it whispered directions. As soon as it is gone, she moves back to Draco's side. He notices for the first time that she looks tired, and he realizes that she must have foregone sleep in order to tend to him. She gives him a tired smile.

"Are you feeling good enough to sit up?"

He nods at this. More than anything, he is hungry. The hunger of an entire day is gnawing away at his stomach as she fetches extra pillows (where did she get those?) and puts them behind his back to help him sit up. A moment later, two house elves appear in his room, each carrying a tray.

"Which one of you has the soup?" she asks, her voice commanding and authoritative. "Put that tray on his lap." The smaller of the two elves approaches him and places a covered tray on his lap. Before he can disappear, though, Ginny motions him over.

"He's going to need a throat soothing potion. Will you fetch one from Madam Pomfrey for me?" The house elf nods and disappears with a pop. She takes the other tray from the remaining elf and thanks him before waving him away. She sits her own tray down on the chair that she's pulled up beside his bed, and lifts the lid on his tray. He can't keep his stomach from growling as the smell of the soup fills his nostrils. Beside the soup is a small plate with two steaming rolls on it, and a tall glass full of iced water. He picks up the spoon and motions for her to sit down and eat, too.

After a while, the first house elf returns and hands Ginny the potion. She thanks him and moves to Draco's side. "You should drink this before you finish eating," she says gently. "It's best if you have food in your stomach when you take it. It'll make your throat feel better."

He does as he's told and swallows the potion. The taste is horrible and the smell is worse, but he chokes it down. Instantly his throat is soothed, and he clears his throat for good measure. She is smiling brightly at him.

"Better?" she asks hopefully. He smiles at her.

"Much. Thanks."

"Good. Now finish eating - you've got to make up for not eating yesterday."

"Why aren't you eating yet?" he asks, gesturing toward her tray. She gives him a mysterious smile.

"It isn't for me," she says, shaking her head. "Well, the sandwich inside is mine, but the rest is for you."

"For me?" He has finished his soup and is eating a roll when he remembers how she enjoyed the roll at dinner that first night together. He picks up the remaining roll and holds it out to her. "Take it."

"I'm not going to take your food."

"There's more food on that tray for me, right?" She nods. "Then you'd better take this, or I won't eat another bite." She exhales and gives him an aggravated look before yanking the roll away from his hand.

"You're a spoilt child, do you know that?" she snaps, even though he sees a smile tugging at her lips.

"It's the only way to be," he says, watching her change the trays out. When the second tray is on his lap, she lifts the lid and watches his grin expand. There is a small chocolate cake and pumpkin pasties, along with a plate of ham sandwiches. He looks up at her in slight surprise. "I thought you said that there was only one sandwich here?"

"No, I said that there was only one for me," she says, reaching across the bed and picking one up. He watches as she sinks her teeth into it. "You're the one who needs to rebuild his strength and eat more, not me."

"No, you're the one who needs some sleep," he points out, frowning.

"What? I'm fine! Don't be ridiculous."

"Ginny, don't try to hide it - you know I'm not stupid," he says, his frown deepening. "I know what you look like when you haven't slept, remember?"

She looks down at the sandwich in her hand and sighs. "I know you're not stupid, but really, I'm fine. I promise. I just wanted to be awake in case you needed me, or something. I know, you're a big boy and you can take care of yourself."

"I never said that," he protests quickly. He likes being babied when he's not feeling well, and he knows that she's done a superb job of it. He has to make her feel appreciated, since he's sure that her other friends don't appreciate her. "I'm glad you stayed with me."

"I know I have a tendency to be too motherly when this stuff happens," she says, plucking a napkin from his tray and placing the untouched roll and half-eaten sandwich on it. She wraps up the food and places it on the nightstand that sits beside her side of the bed. "Don't overdo it with the food," she commands, before moving toward her duffel bag.

His heart begins to race and panic floods his system. "Are you leaving me?" She looks up in surprise.

"No! I'm just going to go and take a shower," she explains, holding up her shampoo and bathrobe. He relaxes a bit and reaches for his glass of water. "I didn't take one yesterday, and I don't want to start smelling and make you sick again."

He grins at this. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she goes into the bathroom. "Left myself open for that one, didn't I?"

He lifts the tray off of his lap and puts it on the chair that sits next to his bed - the one that she occupied last night. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up slowly, heading to the dresser to get a clean change of clothes. He has managed to pull his pants on when the door opens and Ginny emerges in her bathrobe. She stops in the doorway and stares at him, her eyes drifting down to his naked torso. He feels his face warming up from the intensity of her gaze, and then realizes that no one has looked at him like this in a long time.

The last time a girl looked at him this way was when he and Pansy fooled around in fifth year. It feels good, to see Ginny's neck go splotchy and her face turn scarlet. She finally manages to avert her eyes, and with a smirk, Draco wonders what would happen if he went shirtless all day.

Despite these thoughts, he pulls a long-sleeved shirt over his head and turns to watch her. She is still only in her bathrobe, and now she is rummaging through her duffel bag for her clothes. His heart seems to have lodged itself in his throat as she gives him an embarrassed smile before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door.

It only takes a minute before she comes back into the room, and he does a double-take. She is wearing a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Against the black material, her hair seems even more red than usual. He stares for a moment before he realizes that he's doing it, and he has to force himself to look away.

"You're an exhibitionist," she says, giggling. He arches an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you say that?"

"That's the second time I've caught you half-dressed. I think you like showing off."

He grins wickedly at her. "And if I do?"

"Then I think I need to start wearing blindfolds, or something," she laughs, shaking her head.

"You'd peek," he accuses, his eyes twinkling.

"And if I did?" she asks, echoing his words. She giggles at the surprised look on his face. "Oh, come on. You don't really think that you're the only one here who can be wicked, do you?"

"I suppose not," he says, shaking his head. "I think we're spending too much time together. My wickedness is rubbing off on you." She smirks at this.

"I'd love to agree and say that it's because of you, but I can't. I live with Fred and George, remember? There's something to be said for sharing the genes of two such adept pranksters."

He laughs at this, and she moves to stoke the fire. "So tell me about some of the trouble you get into with them." She stands up and gives him a mildly surprised look.

"You want to hear about my family? Really?"

"You don't have to act so surprised," he chastises, sitting on the bed. He pats the side that she sleeps on, and she crosses the room to sit beside him. "I like hearing stories about troublemakers."

"Remind you of yourself?" she teases. He chuckles.

"Maybe."

"Well, where should I start?"

"How about my fifth year? I want to know how they managed to show up Umbridge like they did." At this, she snorts with laughter.

"They're so proud of that," she says, shaking her head. "They still like talking about it. They set off a bunch of enchanted fireworks in the hallway. Whenever Umbridge tried to get rid of them, they would explode and make a huge mess. Unless she tried to vanish them, and then they multiplied by ten!"

"Are they that bad at home, too?"

"Worse," she laughs. "They keep Mum on her toes, I'll tell you that. And I have to constantly change the locking spells on the door to my room, or else they'll figure it out and get in. Though I expect that if they really wanted to, they could probably get in, anyway."

"It must have been nice growing up with so many siblings," he comments.

"Well, sometimes it was. I mean, I always had someone to teach me how to do things, and I always had someone to get into trouble with. But I wish I would have had a sister, to teach me girly things and stuff. Did you ever wish you had brothers or sisters?"

"I used to wish that I had an older brother," he admits, surprising her a bit. "Sometimes I got bored in the Manor alone."

"Well, let me just tell you that sometimes I wish I were an only child," she says, shaking her head. "Especially when they exclude me from things. When Harry started spending time at our house, they didn't need me anymore. I was so glad when Hermione started coming over, too. I thought that I finally had a girl to talk to - and she did talk to me, most of the time."

"But?"

"But more often than not, she spent her time with Ron and Harry."

"How about now?"

"Now everything is the same. They're closer than ever, if that's possible. Charlie is in Romania with his dragons again, Bill is travelling doing his work for Gringott's, the twins have their own shop, and Percy is as happy as a clam in the Ministry of Magic."

"I never knew that your brothers had such good jobs," he says, mildly impressed.

"What do you mean?"

"One of your brothers works with dragons?"

"Yeah, Charlie does."

"Of course, the Ministry job doesn't sound like fun," he comments dryly. She laughs at this.

"Percy and my Dad both work for the Ministry. I expect that that's where Ron will end up, too. At first, anyway. If he decides to be brave and follow Harry, he'll try to be a professional Quidditch player, or an Auror, or something."

"Potter wants to be an Auror? You'd think he'd gotten enough of dark wizards."

"I think it's just something that comes naturally to him," she says, shrugging.

"Like everything else," he mutters, looking away from her. She blinks, and then reaches her hand out to touch his arm. The contact makes his stomach turn somersaults as he turns to look at her.

"Hey," she says softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Just because it's natural doesn't mean that it's always easy. Besides, you have natural talents, too."

This piques his interest. "I do?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, are you kidding? Of course you do! You've always made flying look so easy that it makes me sick. And don't forget, you're no slacker when it comes to schoolwork; you easily rival Hermione any day of the week. Your grades are only second to hers, and you've beaten Harry out at that. He only ranks third behind you."

This makes Draco feel better, and he nods. "I suppose you're right," he says, smiling gratefully at her. He wants to say that he has something else that Potter doesn't have, and that it's her, but he's not sure of himself yet. He knows that she feels something for him, he's just not sure what the something is.

He notices that her hand is still on his arm, and he looks down at it. She yanks it away as though she's been burnt, and she rises from the bed. "Feeling physically fit?"

"As fit as I'll ever be - why?"

"Then get your bum out of bed, and let's go have some fun!" She heads toward the door, then stops and turns around. "And this time, bring your warmest cloak." He grins at this, understanding that they're going to go fly. He is grateful that it is winter and that it gets dark early in the evenings, otherwise he wouldn't feel quite so comfortable going outside in the open. He watches as she removes her cloak from her duffel bag, and he does a double-take as she puts it on. It is threadbare and looks as though it wouldn't even keep a kneazle warm.

He goes to his closet and pulls out his old cloak, and then clears his throat. She turns and looks at him, and he holds the cloak out. "What?" she asks, reaching for it. "Do you want me to hold it for you while you get your trainers on?"

"I'm giving it to you. To keep," he adds, just in case she thinks he just wants her to hold it. Her hand pauses just above the fabric, and she lifts her eyes to meet his.

"Giving it to me?" she echoes.

"I have another one, so please take it. Consider it a late Christmas gift."

She removes her cloak and drapes it across the back of his desk chair, then takes the one that he's holding out to her. He helps her get it on, then turns back to the closet to get his other cloak. While he's got his back turned to her, she presses her nose to the collar and inhales deeply. The scent of his cologne is strong in the fabric, and it makes her feel weak-kneed and dizzy.

He turns around and sees her standing there with her head tilted to one side and her eyes closed, and he wonders what she's doing. He clears his throat again and her eyes fly open. Her cheeks flush pink, and she heads out of the tower without meeting his eye. He thinks that perhaps he has made her feel ashamed by giving her the cloak.

He follows her down through the castle and out to the pitch, almost jogging to keep up with her. She pulls the brooms out from beneath the blanket where she'd hidden them and hands him one. She kicks off before he can even mount his broom, and he frowns as he pushes off and soars into the air.

For a while he loses track of her. It is dark outside and he doesn't have any special glasses to see in the dark, or even his wand to charm himself. He loves to fly in the dark anyway; he knows the pitch and the air above it better than he knows himself. He flies in lazy circles, taking his time at first, then heading into a spiraling dive towards the ground. He pulls up just before he collides with the earth, and suddenly she's there, hovering just above him.

"That was amazing," she says breathlessly. He hides his pleasure at her words; he knows that he is a skilled flier, but it means something to him to hear it coming from her.

"Thanks," he says, panting. "Where've you been?"

"Just watching you," she admits, looking down at her broom. Suddenly a thought occurs to him, and he lands.

"Hop on." She stares at him for a moment, and then a slow smile appears on her face.

"Really?"

"Absolutely." She doesn't waste any time, and she descends the rest of the way on her broom, then lets it drop as she heads towards him.

"In front of you or behind you?"

"In front." She climbs on, and instantly his arms surround her. His heart is pounding wildly as he kicks off, and she gasps as they rise into the air together. He does some more lazy circles, mostly just to get her used to the feeling of being on the broom with him. When he thinks she is ready, he speeds up. Her hair is whipping behind her, and mostly covers his face. He doesn't complain though; how can he? She is sharing with him one of the things that he loves most in all the world, and he can tell from the way that she's laughing that she loves it, too.

"Ready to try a dive?" he asks, his lips against her ear. He feels her shiver before she answers.

"Yes." Suddenly they are plummeting towards the ground. Exhilaration causes his blood to pump rapidly through his veins like a rushing river. He wraps one arm around her waist and keeps one hand on the broom, bracing both of them. Just before they are about to crash, he pulls up, and they are parallel to the ground. He can feel her shaking with the force of her breathing.

"That was... it was..." her voice trails off as she tries to find the words, and he wonders for a brief moment if he's frightened her. His fears are placated in the following moment, when she lets out a loud whoop. "It was incredible!"

"It was, wasn't it?" he asks, grinning.

"Thank you so much for sharing it with me!" she gushes happily. He squeezes her tinight with the arm that's wrapped around her, and puts his lips to her ears again.

"You're welcome." She starts to dismount from the broom, but he holds fast to her. "Where are you going? Don't you want to fly some more?"

"I don't want to wear you out," she says, relaxing into his embrace. "You're still a bit weak from being so sick yesterday, and you need to get your rest."

"Are you saying that you're ready for bed?"

"After some light dinner, yes. I'm very tired, Draco." He understands this, since he knows that she stayed awake during the previous night in order to take care of him. He releases her and gets off of the broom at the same time she does, and watches as she takes both brooms and hides them beneath the blanket again. She turns back to him and reaches for his hand, which he gives her without a second thought. Their hands remain linked all the way back to his tower. Once inside his room, she lets go of his hand and removes her cloak. She folds it neatly and places it on the floor beside her duffel bag.

"Shall we ring for dinner?" she asks, batting her eyelashes. He laughs as he replaces his cloak inside his closet.

"By all means," he says, bowing grandiosely. She tugs on the gilt rope to summon the house elves. Dinner passes with no conversation, because he can tell that she's tired. She can barely keep her eyes open long enough to finish her dinner.

After the house elves have cleared the food items away, she goes into the loo to change into her pyjamas. She doesn't wait for him as she crawls into bed, and strangely enough, he is not upset by this. He knows that he is the reason for her exhaustion, so he doesn't mind that she's retiring a bit early, and he especially doesn't mind because she's in his own bed. She turns onto her right side, facing his empty side of the bed, and closes her eyes.

He changes into his pyjamas quickly, wanting to get to bed so he can feel her next to him. He slips beneath the covers and moves towards her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She is still awake, but only just. She nestles closer to him and sighs contentedly before falling asleep.

He doesn't mind going to bed any longer. Before her, it was horrible; nightmares haunted him constantly, and he never got a good night's sleep. Since she began sharing his bed, he's not had a nightmare, and he feels more rested than he has in a long time. She is good for him in more ways than one, and he knows it.