Beyond Therapy

- Beyond Therapy -

Slytherin Pride

Chapter One

It has always been said that someone Up There has a very weird sense of humour.

Draco Malfoy certainly thought so. If the current development of his life was any indication, he was absolutely sure that someone Up There did not like him very much. He must have been screwing with his records, whoever He was. And not just a mingling-around-because-He-was-bored style of screwing with his records. It was poking-with-a-pitchfork-and-then-giving-it-several-deadly-twists-before-burning-it-in-Hell kind of screwing. If not, then he didn't know how else he would be able to explain why he had to be sitting down here writing a letter to none other than Ginny Weasley.

If anyone had told him yesterday that this was what would happen to him today, he would have jabbed his broom into the fellow's mouth and shoved it down his throat. Or perhaps, he would have killed himself before it happened. The preservation of a Malfoy's dignity was certainly worth going to such extremes. Alas, there was just no point in multiplying the pain by rubbing in all the 'would haves'.

It was ten minutes past midnight and Draco was making no progress on the task at hand. He had already drafted several letters, but none of them had been to his liking. It had to be flawless, perfect to precision the level of politeness that would give it the resemblance of a thank you note while maintaining the stab of Slytherin viciousness he should portray as The Enemy because in all honesty, he knew she hated him, just as he hated her. But a wizard debt was a wizard debt, not that she could claim to have saved him. At least not in the strictest sense of the definition. In spite of this, the incident continued to haunt Draco in a way he had not expected and thus he decided that, perhaps, there were appropriate manners to which one should respond to someone who had offered a helping hand and herein laid the strength he'd drawn on in order to complete the matter.

Dear Ginny Dear Weasley To Ginny

Weasley,

"Better," Draco murmured to himself. He stared down at the parchment, squinted in concentration, and frowned. He has no idea what to write to Ginny Weasley. He crushed the piece of parchment, threw it behind him and started on a new one.

Weasley,

thank you

What you did today was

I just want to say...

"Argh!" Draco exclaimed in frustration, crushed the piece of parchment and sent it flying backwards to join its counterparts on the polished wooden floor of his room. Then, he started to pace.

It was not in his nature to feel thankful towards anybody, much less a Gryffindor. Much less a Weasley. So why was he feeling that now? Surely it was biologically impossible for him to feel such a need to express his gratitude for what she had done for him. No, he wasn't feeling thankful, he told himself. He only wanted her to bloody keep it a secret and not tell any other soul about it. But if that was the case, he should not be haunted by the flipping images of The Incident. He should not be thinking about how disturbingly generous it was that she had not hesitated to help him when he was in trouble, despite the fact that he was a supposed enemy. He should not be thinking about how he had knocked into her when he lost his balance and if he had hurt her when he fell against her ...

But here he was thinking about every one of these things. His thoughts came to a halt suddenly as he rechecked himself.

Fucking hell, who cares if she was hurt or not? It's her own fault that she was nosy. She asked for it.

He re-ran that revised piece of thought in his head again and nodded. That's right. That should be the way -- the Malfoy way of assessing the situation. Ginny Weasley was a filthy, low-class, bloody nosy Weasley.

With that, Draco turned sharply back to his desk and settled down to write the letter.

Weasley,

Thought I should mention my surprise at your display of competence this afternoon, albeit it was the lowest level of what I could have expected from a pureblood witch like you. I would have considered a gesture of appreciation if you didn't drop me to the floor, and thanks to you, the left side of my head is swelling to the size of a Quaffle. Even the fact that you did provide a lot of comfort by staying with me and holding me up cannot in any way compensate for the fact that I am now possibly suffering from a concussion.

"And the fact that you did provide a lot of comfort by staying with me and holding me up does not in any way compensate for the fact that I am now possibly suffering from a concussion?" Draco's eyes traced back and forth that last line repeatedly before he crushed the third piece of parchment he was working on.

What in Merlin's beard was I thinking?

He picked up a fourth piece of parchment and tried writing again.

Weasley,

Thought I should mention my surprise at your display of competence this afternoon, albeit it was the lowest level of what I could have expected from a pureblood witch like you. I would have considered a gesture of appreciation if you didn't drop me to the floor, though to be fair, I think I did knock into the side of your face when I fell back and I hope I didn't bruise you too badly. I'm sorry about that, and thanks for ...

"ARGH!"

~*~

For starters, wizards were not supposed to have asthma. That was a disgustingly plebeian Muggle disease to have been marked in existence in the wizarding world. It was even more absurd that it should be recorded alongside Draco Malfoy's name in his medical records.

No one was able to explain why a pureblood like him could not have gotten a more sophisticated disease that might match his status as the heir to one of the richest wizarding family in England. A touch of extra limbs would have been better than a dose of asthma any day. At least that sounded something like a wizard might have. Or perhaps not, he thought later. That would have spoiled the overall intricate design of his handsome frame. That would be a crime.

For sixteen years now, Draco had been forced to rely on Muggle medication for his asthma. This arrangement, albeit abhorrent to the Malfoys, was inevitable simply because no one else in the wizarding world had ever been diagnosed with such a Muggle-fixated illness. It stood to reason that there was no magical means of dealing with it because there was no need to deal with it in the first place. No wizard doctor knew a thing about it. No healer had even heard about it. Nada. Willing or not, Draco had to accept the inhaler as his best friend.

That was what precipitated it all. Because he really hadn't managed to truly appreciate the importance of his inhaler, even after sixteen years.

And that spelled trouble.

~*~

It was mid-afternoon. When the sun shone through the canopy of leaves, it did so fitfully, as one would notice it emerging from blanks of wispy clouds, tinting the young leaves on the trees and making them glow a vivid, almost virulent green.

Draco, on the other hand, was glowing evidently green too.

"I think I'm going to faint."

Catching Draco in his arms, Blaise stiffened and wrinkled his nose, surveying the blond boy who had -- rather theatrically -- swung and knocked into him suddenly.

"Oh, Merlin! Mr. Dramatic over here. I'm not carrying you!"

"I'm not asking you to carry me!" Draco hissed and glowered. He wasn't sure what he was feeling angry about : the walking existence of half-breed morons around him, or the fact that he was barely able to stand upright without the support of the wall. He felt dizzy and was wheezing badly. The prospect of felling weak here, in the public eyes, angered him to no end.

"All right, all right, no need to get agitated and kill yourself faster than you have to," Blaise said as he slung his arm through Draco's, pulling him to the isolated corner of the hallway. He did not want to attract too much attention because god-knows Draco would be damned if anyone found out about his Muggle-centric handicap. "Okay, where the hell is that - err, what is it called again? Inhibiter? ... retractor ... inhaler!"

Draco dug into his pockets, fumbled about, found nothing and felt a dreadful sense of amnesia and deja vu at the same time.

I think I've forgotten this before, he thought wistfully.

Blaise took a look at his friend's face and knew that they were damned.

"Fantastic. You're brilliant, you know? Fancy you to spark up an attack the day you forget the inhaler. And a long way away from the Slytherin dungeon at that. Can you walk? Wait, are you even breathing because I mean ... Draco!" he said and grabbed on to Draco who was losing his footing. Blaise looked around quickly, trying to figure out a solution to the problem.

"Students...students ... wall ... ah, good, the bathroom! Off we go, then." He continued to help Draco to the restroom, half-dragging and half-carrying the blond boy. Pushing open the door with his shoulder, he pushed Draco inside.

"WHAT? Blaise, this is the toilet!"

"Well done! That it is," Blaise answered cheerfully. "Or would you rather I carry you like a new bride back to the Slytherin common room?"

"Grrr ..."

"Stop talking, concentrate on breathing. I'm going to go get your inhaler, all right? It would be faster than dragging you back to the dungeon. You just wait here." He went over to the sink and ran a piece of cloth he tore from his robes under the water before passing it to Draco. "Hold this over your mouth, just a bit away. Um, it's supposed to help the breathing, or something. Hell, I don't know about that, you figure something out. You stop breathing, and I'm going to kick your pale ass to the grave."

"Convenient, really. Because I think I am on my way there."

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

"Why should I listen to you? Nobody tells me to shut up!" Draco glared.

Blaise leaned against the wall, "Why should you listen to me? Well, let's ponder this for a moment ...You are having an asthma attack, you're in the toilet, and I'm the only one who knows you're here, knows your condition, and is willing and able to help you. If I say shut up, you should probably do just that."

Draco ground his teeth grudgingly, "Then why are you still standing here?"

"Because you're still talking when you should be -- you know what? Never mind. Shut up, and breathe."

He gave Draco a grin, and opened the door, "Be back in a second," he said, and hurried out the door.

~*~

Ginny watched as Blaise ran out of the bathroom, looking panicked.

What was he so concerned about? Was there some sort of dangerous creature lurking in a toilet that had decapitated Malfoy?

She snickered at the thought, and as her curiosity got the better of her, she walked into the bathroom.

Draco was facedown on the toilet floor, struggling to breathe. She gasped with surprise at the sight and tapped him with her foot.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, unsure of how she should react in such a situation. It was only when Draco responded with painful wheezing that Ginny realized he was having trouble breathing. Without a minute hesitation, she kneeled down and flipped Draco over so that he wouldn't be struggling with his face against the floor.

"Hey," she said as she tapped his cheek lightly. "Are you okay? What's wrong with you?" When he did not answer, she slapped his cheek a little harder, and then harder, until she was sure that if he didn't answer her soon, she would be leaving a palm print on his face.

Draco squinted through his slightly blurred vision but could see nothing much except for a blob of fiery red. He frowned, and even in his confused state of mind, he was very sure that Blaise had not been contemplating red hair any time soon, so the most obvious answer escaped his lips.

"WEASLEY?"

Ginny glared. Even on the verge of death, Malfoy was still unpleasant. "Yes, it's Ginny Weasley, and I'm going to try and help you so just shut up and don't complain."

"Don't tou-ch-ch me, Weasley!" Draco managed.

"You want to die then?"

"I would --" Draco coughed again, " -- rather die than be saved by a Weasley," Draco hissed with his last remaining strength. "Get out of here, Weasley. I'm warning you."

"You dumb arse, just for that remark, I'm going to stay." She tugged at his arm and after one hard pull, she succeeded in helping Draco sit up. It would have been easier if he weren't trying to struggle away from her.

Draco tried to jerk away again, at least that was what he intended to do before he realized that sitting up had indeed eased his breathing a bit. He glowered at the thought of having to agree with a Weasley, and decided the least he could do to safeguard the last trace of his dignity was to sit up by himself without having to rely on Ginny. With that goal in mind, he placed his right hand on the floor and tried to push himself up, but he had no enough strength to hold his own weight. Unexpectedly, with a sudden faint spell, he lost balance and fell back against Ginny.

"Gaah! Just sit still!" Ginny said angrily, struggling under his weight.

"Just let go of me -- "

"Stop it! Don't - Oh dear, are you okay? Hey," she asked as she lightly slapped the side of his face again when Draco did not answer. Not that he was in any condition to form one complete sentence. Doubling over, he looked as if he was choking on his own throat and was gasping frantically for air, all while trying to get away from Ginny Weasley.

"Malfoy! Stop moving! You are making it worse," Ginny reprimanded. "There's no need to get yourself killed faster by getting unnecessarily overexcited."

"Overexcited?" he finally managed to say. "No, I'm not getting overexcited. I'm just getting calmly worried that I might just die any moment now. And worse, in the hands of a Weasley. Bet you're enjoying this ..." His last words trailed off like a Wizard Wireless losing the connection.

She frowned as she shifted the back of Draco's head against her shoulder, trying not to be distracted by the close view of his long, dense eyelashes, his artfully chiseled cheeks and the well-defined jaw line. It wasn't fair, she thought, that someone as nasty as Draco Malfoy should be born with near-perfect construction. How dare he possess longer eyelashes than she had? And that chin. Merlin, she should be given that chin. Life was so unfair, she thought again. Just as her inner voice of grievances was going on about the list of things that were unfair in life, another voice of reason stepped in and reminded her that it was not the best choice of timing to be holding a comparative beauty pageant when the boy in question was in a state of mortal peril.

"So, uh, Zabini was going to get help, right? You -- you can just nod."

Draco nodded. In his current state of trailing in and out of semi-consciousness, he no longer had the strength to care that he was leaning against Ginny Weasley, nor was he aware of the fact that she was prying his fingers open to get the piece of wet cloth Blaise had given to him. As he felt another sharp spasm at his chest, he wheezed and coughed, turning his face towards the hollow of Ginny's neck. She smelled of tea rose and berries, a very sweet and soothing smell that caused Draco to relax against her. He did not struggle anymore when Ginny placed the wet towel gently on his face and he breathed in deeply, which helped eased his lungs just a little bit.

Ginny looked down at the boy's painful expression and thought that she should perhaps say something, anything that would help to comfort Draco in a life-and-death situation. Because as much as he was an irritating, whining ferret most of the time, Ginny firmly believed that you could not possibly snarl at a dying person.

"When was Blaise going to get here? Try to calm down, Malfoy. Erm," she said uncertainly. "Just -- concentrate on not dying, alright?"

He closed his eyes and shifted slightly to make himself more comfortable in their current position without another word.

Ginny brushed the hair out of Draco's eyes, then flinched when she realized what she'd just done. Draco turned and peered as he felt the soft touch of her hand. It was a very reassuring gesture and it made him feel safe. He sneaked another peek at Ginny when she absentmindedly stroked his hair again and could not help but notice that she really was quite a pretty girl. Just as he was starting to enjoy the moment (though he would never admit it), he heard the sounds of running footsteps outside the toilet.

Draco started. He jerked upright momentarily, forgetting that he still didn't quite have the strength to sit up by himself for more than ten seconds. His heart hammered against his ribs as he imagine how it would be if Blaise were to dash in and see him leaning against, of all people, Ginny Weasley.

Holy crap.

At the same time, Ginny was entertaining similar thoughts. If Zabini were to dash in and see Malfoy leaning against her, no doubt Harry would find out, and that would be horrible. She didn't want to have to explain herself to him, or worse, to her brother.

Without thinking, she stood up quickly, dropping Draco to the cold, tiled floor.

"OUCH!" Draco half-yelled as he fell back hard onto the toilet floor. He put his hand to the back of his head and rubbed the swelling spot. "You could have given me some prior warning!" he hissed.

"Sorry, Malfoy, I -- I've got to hide, alright? He'll help you, and don't you dare tell anyone I'm here!" she warned as she made her way around the toilet, trying to figure out a way to get away without being seen.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Weasley. Who would want to be seen with you?"

"More people that'd want to be seen with you," she replied, staring daggers at the Malfoy.

Draco tilted his head backward, glaring at the upside down image of Ginny Weasley.

"Dream on, Weasley. That's about the only way that it would come true. In your dreams."

And as he watched Ginny hide behind the third cubicle door, he added, "Merlin beard, step on the toilet lid, will you, Weasley? Even a blind troll can see the feet that size," he groaned, pointing at Ginny's visible feet at the bottom of the cubicle door.

Ginny let out a small "Eep!" before she jumped up on the toilet lid as Draco suggested.

~*~

Blaise swung open the wooden door and skidded into the toilet to find Draco shivering on the tile like a fish on the end of the line.

"Draco?"

"About time," Draco heaved a sigh of relief, ""And yes, it's still Draco."

"Oh, good, you're still alive," Blaise said. Blaise leaned down behind Draco, and hauled him up into a sitting position before handing his friend the inhaler. The asthmatic boy grasped on to the inhaler like a gift of elixir and breathed from it.

"Oei, you all right now, mate?" Blaise asked as he gave his friend a light shove by the shoulder.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Merlin, don't ever do that again. I mean, just what am I supposed to tell your parents if you died? Oh, he couldn't breathe, I left him in a toilet and he choked on the sewage pipe? Ew, forget that, that's gross."

Draco wrinkled his eyebrows as he looked at Blaise, disgusted.

"I wish you could be less vocal with your version of the reality."

"Whatever," Blaise replied as he leant Draco a hand, "Can you stand up?"

"Yeah, just ... give me a moment," Draco replied.

Blaise hooked his arm through Draco's, and tried to tug his friend up when a 'bam' was heard coming from one of the cubicles. It sounded as if the flap of the toilet bowl had just fallen off, slamming onto the toilet seat.

"Who's there?" Blaise called out automatically, feeling cautious. He was about to let go of Draco to investigate the cubicle in question when he felt the boy grabbing onto his sleeves.

"There's no one in here," Draco said, pulling at his friend's sleeves and refusing to let go.

Blaise looked at Draco, his expression quizzical at the boy's strange overreaction, and back at the cubicle again.

"But there's the noise ..."

"There is no one!" Draco said loudly and made a sudden grab at the front of Blaise's robe. Blaise jumped in surprise. "Just get me out of here," Draco said, impatient.

"All right, all right," Blaise replied, puzzled but he did not question, and returned to the task at hand. He reached his arm round Draco's back and pulled the boy upright, steadying him before he dared to let go of his hold.

"All right standing by yourself? You're not going to faint on me again, are you?"

"No," Draco replied shortly. "Let's go back to the dormitory, I need to lie down," he said and steered Blaise towards the door.

When they were about to step out, Draco turned and glanced at the third cubicle intently before turning towards the hallway.

~*~

Mention it to anyone and I swear I will hex you into a pile of dust.

Ginny read the note once and crushed it into a tight ball before throwing it aside at the breakfast table. Ungrateful bastard, she thought. But then again, what more could she expect from him? He was a Malfoy after all. And Malfoys were supposed to be unquestionably detestable. Just like the half-done yolks of fried eggs.

She shrugged and went back to her eggs and toast, unaware of the pair of silver-grey eyes observing her from across the Great Hall. She poked at the eggs and grimaced inwardly when a yolk burst and spread around her plate in thick, sticky, yellowish goo. Ew. Quickly, she picked up the piece of toast that was untouched by the yolk, and proceeded to nimble on it. Her brother and Hermione were sitting with Harry some distance away from her. Glancing down, she could see the animated conversation going on among the trio and felt the familiar stab of envy that sliced through her like a blade. It wasn't that she was still harbouring any thoughts about Harry. Of course not. No one in their right mind would carry a blazing crush on the same boy for more than four years, she told herself.

She sighed as she turned back to her breakfast and sipped her cup of tea.

~*~

"Draco!"

"Huh?" the blond boy replied, distracted, as he turned to Blaise.

"Merlin, I called you three times!"

"Well, that's it, isn't it? I'm not named Merlin, of course I won't answer you."

Blaise rolled his eyes as he continued with what he'd intended to say.

"In any case, Mr. Malfoy, I think it's time you stop poking at my balls."

"Whaat?" Draco spluttered, choking on his tea. He would have grown bright red in the face too, if he were capable of it. But his well-trained cold-blooded public persona did not facilitate such a response. Instead, all you could catch of a tell tale sign of the embarrassment was a slight tinge of pink rising from the nape of his neck and at the base of his ears.

"I said, get your fucking hand off my meat balls," Blaise announced loudly with deliberation.

Draco retracted his fork from Blaise's plate, but not without sending the boy a death glare first. Turning back to his own plate, he poked his fork at the yolk of his egg purposefully and watched with satisfaction how the sunny up burst and sent a flow of sweet smelling smooth sauce on his plate. Then, he picked up a roll of bread, broke it, and smeared a piece with the thick yellow yolk gravy before popping the bread into his mouth.

Mmmm. That should be the correct way to enjoy breakfast. Bread dipped in half-done egg yolks. Anyone else who didn't agree with him was probably mad.

~*~

Three days after The Incident and nothing peculiar had taken place at Hogwarts. Draco went on with his own business, taunting the trio, doing homework and maintaining his quota for most number of insults thrown at members of the other Houses. Ginny, on the other hand, went on with her own business as well, attending lessons, doing homework and maintaining her quota for most number of shots thrown during Quidditch trainings.

Everything was normal and peaceful and as it should be.

But don't let the calm before the storm gives you any false sense of security. Just because nothing has happened over the last three days doesn't mean that nothing will happen on the fourth day onwards. Something will always happen. That's Murphy's Law for you: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong in this story. That's the whole point after all.

~*~

"Weasley!"

Ginny picked up her pace when she recognized the voice that was calling her. She hurried through the afternoon crowds, squeezing through clusters and clusters of students mingling in the hallways until she reached the stairs leading up to the Gryffindor Tower. Thinking she had lost him, she stopped for a while to catch her breath before she took a step on the first flight of stairs. But she was hindered from doing so by a strong arm grabbing her waist from behind.

She screamed. That was a natural response to the situation. He clasped a hand over her mouth. That was also a natural response to his situation. Then, clamping her struggling form in his arms, he dragged her off the stairs and into a secluded gap in the walls, which they barely fitted in together. The place had them both covered from the public eye with a row of tall display plants set for the purpose of Herbology Awareness Week.

Ginny glared at him with her big, dark eyes, still trying to struggle away. But that was before she realized that struggling in such a confined area only served to increase the amount of body contact. Then, she stopped moving.

"Shush!" he hissed at her once she stopped struggling. "You don't want the whole world to hear us."

"Then don't act like a sneaky Slytherin and grab me in such a manner! For a moment there I thought you were Malfoy!" she snapped.

The boy snorted at the mention of the name.

"Why would Malfoy want to grab and corner you up a wall?" the tall boy asked with a chuckle. "No offence, Ginny. But I don't think that guy will be falling at your feet anytime now. We all know how he's like. He's only into in-breeding among his own kind."

"And God bless all of us for that," she said dramatically. "Why are you sticking me into this wall, anyway?"

"Well, I just thought it would be a fun thing to do. I'd been wondering if this gap can fit two people. As it turns out, it does."

"By dragon eggs, Michael, this is so immature," she replied as she inched out of the gap.

"Wait." He reached out to stop her.

"What?"

"I was wondering if you would like to come with me this Hogsmeade weekend."

Ginny paused and surveyed the boy standing in front of her. Granted, Michael Corner was a handsome boy. He was also a good Quidditch player. And he was smart, or else he would not have been sorted into Ravenclaw. But he was also too chauvinistic for his own good.

Not to mention, as a general rule, you do not go out with the same boy twice.

"Thanks for asking, Michael, but I'm afraid the answer is no."

"Aw, it's just a friendly lunch. Nothing more, I promise."

"No."

"Well," the boy shrugged, "Just thought I'd try asking," he said as he made room for Ginny to wriggle out of the small space.

"And sorry if I've gave you a fright," he said as he watched her walk away.

"Don't worry about it," she replied over her shoulder. "Nothing ever really scares me. That's why I'm in Gryffindor."

~*~

Once in her dormitory, she removed her school robes and hung them over the back of her chair. The copies of books from the library were scattered all over her table, together with half-written parchments of essays and a large row of graphs drawn for Arithmancy.

She sighed at the sight of the mess and sat down on her bed, whacking her foot idly against the leg of her chair like a pendulum on full swing. She was contemplating the list of things that had to be done by nightfall, and in what order they should be done when the door clicked open again. A dainty redhead walked into the room.

"Hey, Hermione," the redhead chirped.

"Hey," the older girl replied, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her fingers.

"Tired?" Ginny asked as she shrugged off her own robes and removed her red-and-gold tie. "You look tired."

Hermione sighed before she nodded her head slightly.

"There's just so much to do. I don't know where to start."

"Well, you just have to start somewhere and work from there. Then at least some things will get done eventually."

"I guess you are right," Hermione smiled. "And oh, I think this came for you," she said and handed a piece of folded parchment to the other girl.

"Must be from my parents," Ginny said, though she was not quite sure of that. The letters from her parents were usually crumpled with creases and decorated with ink blotches. This letter was placed in an envelope made of bright white parchment, no creases or ink blotches in sight, and the material felt heavy in her hand. Her family never bothered with envelopes. The letter was also sealed, which was a first because her parents never bothered to seal their letters to her and her brothers. It's not as if they haboured some great state secret that would bring about Armageddon if they didn't seal their letters.

She flipped the envelope over and stared at the neat, slanted script that spelled her name. It was not a handwriting she could recognize, at least not at first glance, and she tore the envelope open immediately, curious to find out who the sender of the letter was. When she realized who the letter was from, she wished that she had never opened the envelope.

Meet me in the Quidditch shed tomorrow night. Eight.

Signed,

Draco Malfoy

~*~