Author's Note: Many thanks to Mynuet, ClanMalfoy and Where_Is_Truth for betaing this on the spot and reading snips as they came down the pike. Sorry this isn't in my usual writing style, and it won't be. Hope that doesn't turn off a lot of readers, but hey, you can't please everyone. This fic was/is written by me in honor of my own birthday that passed on September 26, because I'm weird like that. The line "'S a load of…" was shamelessly stolen from Where_Is_Truth because she let me and I love it. Though I don't remember which fic of hers it came from, you can probably bet it was something in which Ron was referring to Draco.
"Ron! Will you stop it?" Harry's disembodied, somewhat muffled voice snapped angrily. "You're going to hurt him."
Harry's uncharacteristic tone was the first thing that woke Ginny, who lay shivering in her single bed, trying to conserve some body heat. Instead of hearing Ron's anticipated reply, all she heard was a sharp thump, presumably of the heavy oak dining room chairs slapping against the antique table in 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Will you fucking cut it out?" Harry shouted, and this brought Ginny immediately to action. Shoving her frozen feet into frayed slippers, she dashed for the door and cracked it, peering from her bedroom off the kitchen into said room.
"Damn it, if you hurt him, his mother will claw your eyes out, okay? As if she needs a reason to hate you! And if she doesn't kill you, Professor Snape will. So just be careful! Holy God, you're a stupid arse some times," Harry blurted, his face framed rectangular by the crack in her door.
"'S a load of shite, `swhat it is!" Ron replied, unseen to Ginny but voice more than audible. "He's a fucking Death Eater!"
"Ronald Weasley!" shrieked Molly Weasley, best Howler voice in place and clattering down the stairs from the third floor. "Watch your language and keep your voice down! Some people are trying to rest!"
Deciding this was too weird for words, Ginny stepped into the hall and padded into the kitchen.
"What is going…uh…" she began authoritatively, trying her best to mimic her mother, and stopping short.
Attached to Ron's wand by invisible magic was the unconscious body of a bloody, snowy Draco Malfoy.
***
They could only use a few spells anymore, what with the small but deadly pockets of Death Eaters still on the loose.
In the six years since Ginny had graduated, the Ministry had stepped up their efforts to systematically kill Death Eaters. After Azkaban prison proved to be fallible, the wizarding authorities had no good way to incarcerate them. As if the entire society had taken a step back into the Middle Ages, incineration proved to be the only way to be reassured that a Death Eater could not and would not be resurrected.
The Death Eaters had learned ways to make their magic more powerful. Necessity is the mother of invention. Wily dark wizards discovered ways to track spells and thus suss out supposedly Unplottable homes and the wizards hiding within. In particular, fire, heating, protection and glamour spells were easily detected, due in part to their lingering nature. Now, those fighting the dark wizards had to hide in the wide open.
***
"What is he doing here?" Molly and Ginny asked at the same time, hands going to hips in identical fashion. Harry had to quirk his lips at the unconscious action, but explained as Ron glared at him and Draco respectively.
"Lucius Malfoy and a small band of Death Eaters are holed up near my old home in Godric's Hollow," Harry said, ignoring the obvious irony and Molly's shocked gasp. "Ron and I were to help on a raid with them tonight and when we got there, Professor Lupin and Mr. Weasley were busy tending to Draco. They're also on their way back, Mrs. Weasley," he added hastily, seeing Molly's concerned face.
"But what does this have to do with Malfoy?" Ginny demanded, and Harry was reminded uncannily of Hermione.
"I'm getting there, Gin. Hold on." Harry's gaze traveled over to Ron and the floating Malfoy, fixing him with a hard stare.
"Turns out that Draco's been working for the Order," Harry said slowly, still unable to truly comprehend how his rival had been working for Dumbledore for more than three years and he hadn't known about it. "He had been tracking his father and had the time of the raid wrong by a few minutes. He thought everyone else was going to Apparate in with him and attack. Which they were…only he was about ten minutes too soon. Someone hit him with the Cruciatus, Stunned him, and then shoved him in a snow bank head first."
"What are you doing, then?" Ginny nearly shrieked, face purpling with rage. "Why have you got him suspended with a traceable spell when I could have been working to warm him up? Don't you know anything about humans, Harry? Doesn't matter if he's been Stunned, he could still have hypothermia!"
***
"I have a feeling you're going to need to know more than just magic healing," Hermione told her. "My mum and dad have nurses who work for them as dental assistants, and one of them let me buy her old university textbooks from her."
That had been four years ago. Before spells were restricted. Before Muggle healing techniques became absolutely necessary and Ginny's services were sought after by many.
She considered every wizard she healed by Muggle means her own way of spitting in Tom Riddle's papery, ugly face.
***
"What are you on about, you crazy bint?" Ron yelled, heedless of the nine other people sleeping on the third and fourth floors of Grimmauld Place. "His dad tried to kill you!"
Ginny's cold-numbed legs carried her faster across the kitchen than Molly attacking with a wooden spoon to the back of the head. Her small but well-aimed hand planted a stinging slap on her brother's face and she stood her ground furiously.
"If he's working for Dumbledore, that's good enough for me," she spat in a low, frightening tone. "Don't you realize that he's probably the only person who could get close enough to that bastard and maybe do away with him once and for all? Maybe if we can get some information out of him I can light Lucius's match."
Molly Weasley was too stunned to reprimand her two youngest children and silently let them duke it out. Harry merely waited for the standoff to end. Ron stepped back first, deciding that perhaps wasn't the best time to test his sister's mettle.
Ginny reached out and snatched Ron's wand, with a silent, deathly pale Malfoy trailing wanly along.
"I have the most blankets in the house. After I put him to bed I'm going to go bunk with Fred and George, you know, the sanest people in the family," Ginny snapped, maneuvering Malfoy behind her. "Don't disturb me or him, and I'm taking his wand. Any questions?" The next split-second passed without a peep and she stalked off to her bedroom.
***
Ginny had never been sure how she ended up with the smallest and chilliest room in Grimmauld Place. The unused grate let in the maximum of cold outside air, and the feather-ticked bed could only hold so much body heat. Of course, she'd salvaged what quilts she could from her room in the Burrow and Dumbledore had allowed her to take a Hogwarts down comforter before the school was no longer a safe place for wizard families and evacuated.
Hermione's pedantic teachings echoed in her head and she reflected on how much she missed her girlhood friend. Hermione, forced back into the Muggle world as an unwed mother carrying a baby with bright green eyes.
Replaying the bushy-haired Head Girl's treatise on hypothermia helped to calm Ginny as she floated Malfoy over the bed and released him from the spell, covering him loosely with a thin quilt and then the heavier comforter. His platinum hair was plastered to his forehead and damp with snow. Grabbing her bath sheet, she briskly rubbed his hair dry and placed her Weasley-spun knit cap over his locks.
Holding back a giggle at how ridiculous he looked in the maroon hat with ear flaps, she concentrated on shoving the bed across the hardwood floor and into the corner, away from the drafty grate. Once she settled him, she moved her night table and the threadbare, overstuffed lounge chair to the side of the bed and observed him.
His breathing was steady, but somewhat shallow. Color was slowly reappearing in his nearly translucent cheeks, and she took that as a good sign. Realizing he still had his wand on him, she patted down his pockets as gracefully as possible and wondered if there was any way to tactfully remove his wet clothing.
She left him shivering for a few moments and returned with a grumbling Fred and George, who agreed to give up some of their own warm clothes so Draco wouldn't lie in the soggy, cold mess of his trousers and heavy sweater. Ginny stood outside the door as the twins used as few spells as possible to turn him and remove his clothes.
Once they were finished, they admonished her in unison to forget about the prat and let him lie there and come and stay in their room, which was much toastier. Smiling, Ginny shook her head and went back in to check on Draco.
He was still breathing, perhaps a little less thready than before. Satisfied, she sat in the chair and wrapped herself in the only blanket left in the room. She told herself she would watch him for another hour or so and would then go join her brothers.
***
Ginny woke as daylight broke into the small, grimy window. Shaking herself alert, she immediately checked on Malfoy. He didn't appear to have moved the entire night, his hat was still in place, and the blankets were pulled firmly up to his chin. Deciding she didn't want to wake him, she pattered out of the room and headed to the kitchen, where she could smell her mother's cooking.
Over breakfast, while Harry retold Malfoy's story, Ginny thought about the restorative powers of sleep. The best course of action in this case seemed to be letting Draco sleep until natural bodily functions prodded him to wake. She was confident he would wake later in the afternoon.
Over the day, Ginny went out to the various hiding-in-plain-sight wizarding enclaves and treated some members of the Order and a few elderly wizards and some children with runny noses. Professor Snape had been able to stockpile a few potions to help combat illness, but they were severely rationed, and Ginny found herself tipping teaspoonfuls of medicinal concoctions into small vials to spread one dose among four or five people.
After spending a goodly portion of the day away from Grimmauld Place, she trekked back to the now-visible front door and went inside, stomping her boots to loosen the packed snow in the treads. The house was quiet, which seemed out of place. When she ascended the stairs to the second floor, she found everyone stuffing their faces with food. Ah, now she understood the silence. Harry had gone to the Muggle market and purchased fresh meat, fish, and vegetables from the small amount of pounds he was able to convert from his vault in Gringotts. It was her mother's job to keep feeding the family and friends on practically nothing, and as a young, poor mother she had learned her replicating skills well.
Ginny took her place at the table, and was informed by Molly that Draco still hadn't budged, except his woolen hat had been dislodged. Inwardly, Ginny laughed. Trust Draco even in sleep to know he had some Weasley-tainted item about his person. She ate her portion of the relatively sumptuous meal and went to her room to change into some nightclothes.
It was almost as if no one was in the room when she changed. She had no compunctions about disrobing and redressing in front of him; after all, he was little more than breath in a body at this point. Before she went to the loo to wash her face, she threw her blanket over Draco's still body. No reason he couldn't warm her blanket for her, eh?
As she returned from the lavatory, the twins accosted her.
"Why didn't you come in last night, sister ours?" Fred asked sweetly, but there was concern written in his eyes.
"No reason," she said honestly. "I just fell asleep in the chair."
"We just don't want you in there with Malfoy if he wakes up and is combative," George said, and Ginny wondered where George had learned that word.
"Really, if and when he wakes he's not going to have any strength. Besides, I have his wand and I keep it with me," Ginny said as lightly as she knew how. "I'll be fine. Truth be told, I prefer to sleep in my own room. I'm used to it, and I rest better."
George raised a sleek eyebrow.
"If you say so. Just be careful."
"I am careful," Ginny bit out. "You think I can't handle Malfoy when I spend my days sneaking about and treating people? Come off it."
She turned her back on her brothers and entered her bedroom, completely missing her brothers' hurt expressions.
***
Ginny retrieved her blanket from Malfoy's prone body. It wasn't precisely warm, but the thick chill that had settled into the cloth was gone. Eyeing him, she decided the woolen cap didn't need to be replaced. Malfoy's hair was dry as a bone and so was his body. All he had to do now was wake up.
Pulling the chair and side table closer, she snuggled in the cushions and placed Draco's ostentatious wand on the table. She took a moment to contemplate how funny this was, and had Draco not been working for the Order she would have slipped him some belladonna and nightshade by now.
Beyond the exquisite irony of the situation, she pondered Draco physically. He hadn't grown much since his last year at Hogwarts, but his shoulders seemed broader and his hands and fingertips were callused. His hair was longer, and she imagined, had he been sitting up, the platinum locks would have fallen just below his shoulders. His lips were even nice, considering they weren't curled in a sneer for once. Pity, really, that such beauty was wasted on an utter git like Malfoy, even if he was working for the good side.
Ginny was more than a little surprised that the need for food and elimination hadn't woken him yet. He hadn't had any water since he'd been there, and there was no way for her to determine when he had last taken care of these functions. Privately, she wondered if subconsciously he realized he was somewhere safe and he could take the time to reenergize. She had heard of people who were under great duress or in stressful situations who had done this same sort of thing, and not woken for days.
She wished for a parchment and quill, but they were in short supply these days. Harry had thoughtfully procured pens and paper, and she fished them out of the side table's drawer. It would be important to put Draco back on food gradually, and depending on if he had any injuries that manifested after he woke, it was entirely possible he might have to be physically rehabilitated in some manner. Being hit with a Cruciatus was very serious and she knew of few people who had escaped without some reminder of the curse.
And again, she had no idea how long he suffered. Another question to be answered when he woke. Shaking her head, she propped her feet on the edge of the bed and wrapped the blanket around her. For a moment, she was reminded of the curious pictures Bill had shown her of Egyptian mummies. She sure felt like one, shrouded in the cloth. Thank Merlin she had memories like those to keep her sane, in times like these.
***
Deep into the morning, Draco Malfoy's nose twitched. An unpleasant aroma hit his delicate nostrils and he flinched. He tried to move, and felt distinctly muzzier than usual when he came off a drunk. Taking individual account of all of his appendages, he decided everything was present and accounted for. But what was the smell?
His eyes were slightly crusted with sleep, and when he raised an arm to brush it away he was assailed with noxious fumes from his underarm.
Draco Malfoy was never smelly. But this - this indicated he hadn't bathed in days! How could that be? He groaned as the memory of being hit with the Cruciatus came roaring back into his brain. Gods, if that was the case, he was lucky he woke at all. It probably also accounted for why he was lying in a strange bed - comfortable but small - with the girl Weasley sleeping peacefully in a chair next to him.
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