AN: Sorry it took me so long to post this. I thought I had more up here and on a whim decided to check. Yup, only one chap when I had two. So here it is.
A dull ache hit him and he realized his right ankle was throbbing. Vaguely he recalled trying to pivot on it to escape his attackers, and must have injured it then. Then his mind instantly told him he was long overdue for a trip to the loo, but the bone-deep ache in his muscles told his bladder to knock off the whinging.
Drawing a deep breath, his eyes returned to the girl Weasel. She seemed to be sleeping comfortably, damn her. He was shivering despite the thick comforter covering him. It royally chapped him that he smelled like the bottom of a rancid pumpkin juice tankard and this ragged peasant blanket smelled like fresh linen.
By far, though, the most important issue was warming himself. Squinting, he caught the familiar outline of his wand on the bedside table. Opening his mouth to utter an accio, he found that what instead came forth was a distinctly unmanly whuff. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed and wet his lips. When he finally voiced the command, it was so soft he wasn't even sure his wand would respond.
But thank Merlin it did, and whooshed toward his hand. The slight disturbance of the nearby air caused Weasley to stir, and for a split second he was afraid he'd woken her. He needn't have worried, though, as she continued to sleep.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he did what countless other Malfoys had done when faced with a Weasley. Casting a deep sleep charm on the slumbering girl, he quietly levitated her and put her in her place. Next to him, to be exact, as she couldn't be trusted not to break his toes if he lay her across his feet like a dog. He sighed at being so close to the enemy, but she was doing him no good sitting there and just radiating heat into the air.
***
Waking up for Ginny was never particularly hard, as she'd become accustomed over the years to loud brothers and later, loud dorm mates. But this wintry Saturday morning, her limbs were infused with lead and her mind was just as groggy.
She was lying down. She didn't remember going to the twins' room, but perhaps she had. And she'd bunked with one of them, to be sure, as Fred or George was putting out heat like the sun.
Her brother moved behind her, and immediately a moist, acrid scent hit her nostrils. Wrinkling her nose, she willed her heavy body to turn over.
Sleepy gray eyes met hers. Without hesitation, she spoke.
"Malfoy…you stink."
"It's you, I'm sure," he replied just as easily, using his free hand to rub his eyes, the action releasing more fetid air.
"Why can't I move?" she asked calmly, looking down their bodies and noticing that she was atop his covers and saw his wand closed tightly in long fingers.
"The deep sleep charm," he sighed. "I was freezing and you were just sitting there letting perfectly good heat into the atmosphere. I was going to turn you around so your head was at my feet, but the idea of waking up next to your dirty weasel paws was even less appealing than your face."
The jibe rolled off her back. Having heard and seen much worse, the war protected her from Malfoy's childish insults.
"Furthermore, why exactly am I here with you? Where am I?" She opened her mouth to answer his questions before he struggled to sit up and waved off her concerned look with an impatient hand.
"Never mind. I have to drain the dragon. Where's the loo?" he asked abruptly, swinging his aching body to the other side of the bed and standing gingerly. She couldn't see his face and had no idea if he was having any lasting effects from the curses he sustained, but if the acerbic tone was any indicator, he was probably fine.
"Out the door, to the left, three doors down."
She rolled over in time to watch him hobble the short distance to the door. He favored his right leg considerably and she realized that by the extreme swelling on his foot that she'd have some work to do on him.
Grimacing the entire way, he limped to the loo only to find Potter emerging.
"Draco!" he said, blinking furiously behind glasses. "You're awake!" Draco shoved past him into the small lav.
"You're obvious," Draco stated, and slammed the door. As he went to unbutton his fly, he realized belatedly that these were most certainly not his clothes. Pushing the waistband down, he released himself and took the most satisfying piss of his life.
Trying to hold back the groan that accompanied this sort of relief, he realized he had to be in some sort of safe house if Dumbledore put precious Potter there. Wondering who else he'd have the displeasure of meeting, he finished his business and washed his hands, musing that it was certainly the shabbiest lavatory he'd ever seen in his life.
Wondering if the shower was some sort of hose mechanism instead of a civilized stream from the ceiling, he exited the small room, glimpsing what had to be Weasleys around a table.
***
Molly Weasley detected the smallest sliver of platinum hair in between the dark wood panels of the short hallway.
"Draco!" she boomed. "My dear boy, we were thinking you'd never wake!"
Dear boy? Remembering that his mother would have casually flicked a Cruciatus at him for being insolent to his elders, and to distant family no less, he forced himself to reply in a civil tone.
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said stiffly, the hated word rolling off his tongue. She clucked at him in return, shepherding him to an empty chair.
"You must be starving!" she declared, and instantly a plate of eggs, ham and crispy bacon sat in front of him, and a goblet of fresh milk was in his hand.
The smell of the eggs nauseated him, but the meat looked safe to eat. Without a second glace to Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George or Ron, he put his head down and began to shovel in his bacon.
"So, Malfoy, d'you own a watch?" one of the twins (indistinguishable! he thought wearily) asked cheekily.
"Unless you've stolen it, yes," he replied around a bite of ham. Arthur Weasley narrowed his eyes at what he knew was coming.
"Funny, didn't seem to do you any good at that raid," Ron piped up snidely, grinning maliciously.
"No more," said a steely but feminine voice. "Any of you Weasleys say one more word like that and you'll be belching slugs far longer than Ron ever did."
Molly smiled privately at her daughter's efficient silencing of the table. She'd be the master of her brood, that one.
"I don't need you fighting my fights for me, Weasley," Draco said deliberately.
"I'd say you do, Malfoy," Harry said, popping into the room with Draco's hideous Mudblood cousin Nymphadora Tonks. "She's the one who kept Ron from hexing you to kingdom come. Not to mention made sure you didn't die of the cold."
"Yes, well, thank you," he hissed, shoving back from the table as best he could with his weak arms. He got to his feet and began pushing through Scarhead and his cousin to go anywhere but there.
And then, on the floor Molly Weasley polished until she could see her reflection, Draco Malfoy's broken right foot slipped in its white cotton sock covering and he crumpled silently to the floor.
She seemed to be beside him before his head bounced off the floor. Instantly, she had her hands underneath his armpits and with inhuman strength hauled his upper body from the floor and spoke in a fierce, low tone.
"Get up and let's get out of here."
***
He was still long enough for her to jerk him to his feet, and then he began to struggle.
"Get off me, girl!" he snapped furiously. Silently, she let go of him, allowing him to stumble over the slick floors. Without a backward glance, she followed the lanky, hobbling figure back into her chamber.
She walked in to find him ransacking the pitifully small room, ostensibly looking for his personal effects.
"Where are my things, Weaselette? Did you let your horrid identical brothers steal my watch? Hmm? What about those expensive robes I was wearing? Can you answer for that?" he raged, wand flinging blankets off the bed, then firing blasts of air underneath it to make sure she'd not secreted anything there.
"They're safe, Draco," she said in a monotone, not even remembering to use his much-maligned surname. "Mum hand-washed your robes, magicked out the bloodstains and cleaned your intricate little watch by hand, since you'd been shoved into the snow deep enough to bury your hand in mud."
He stopped cold. "She what?" he queried, limping toward her.
She turned an unemotional face toward him.
"She cleaned it. You know, Malfoy, we're not at Hogwarts any more. Everyone here knows whose side you're on, okay? And so when I tell you that my mum cleaned your things, she did it because she trusts in you and also because she wants to help you, whether you need or want it. You can decide if you want to believe what Harry told you, but if Ron had had his way, you'd be dead. So for once, take that giant chip off your shoulder and throw it away."
He lifted an eyebrow. "I get it, Weasley, you're having me on. Great fun, I'm sure, to provoke and belittle an injured man."
Shrugging, she turned to walk out the door, having had enough of his antics and airs.
"Perhaps you've forgotten but I wasn't doing either. Forgive me for wanting to help someone."
Her fingertips closed around the tarnished doorknob when he spoke up behind her. He was sitting on the bed now, cradling his swollen ankle and foot.
"I, erm, I didn't mean what I said about you," he said grudgingly.
"Don't sugarcoat it on my account," she snapped.
"I'm not," he snarled. "Maybe you've forgotten but I nearly got offed by my father and his merry men. I'm a touch cranky when I narrowly escape death, Weasley, give me a break, okay? It's not my greatest wish to be stuck here with a bum foot and smelling like a cellar."
"I guess we've reached a truce, then," she said, her face softening. "You don't want to be here and I can help you get out faster."
"Right," he said warily, and she could see that he was still processing all of this, sussing out every motive she and the home's occupants had.
"Since we've agreed that you're pretty rank, I'm going to go steal some of the twins' shampoo and soap for you," she said, mercifully changing the subject and interrupting the unintended little staring match they'd started. "And while I'm at it, I'm going to nick more of the twins' clothes until we can go and get you some more."
He appeared to be uncomfortable.
"How, err, how does one go about that without any money?" he asked in a tense, low voice, looking pointedly away from her.
"You know, Malfoy, you can be pretty fucking insulting-
"I don't mean you."
Wheeling around, her jaw dropped.
"Oh, buggering hell," he spat. "You want the answer? I'll tell you. Dumbledore controls me. He's got the key to all the Malfoy vaults. Fudge froze them and gave them to Dumbledore to fund the war effort. I'm on a shoestring, you get it? By serving him he thinks I can atone for every foul thing I've ever done. And until he decides I've served my penance, I have nothing. I have to depend on him for everything. He only let me keep those robes and my watch, because my Mum bought it for me. And since I'm willing to bet he can't come near this place without alerting scads of Death Eaters, I'm a little indisposed at the moment."
She tried vainly to think of a suitable response to the haughtiest man she knew revealing his poverty. He struck a curiously sad figure, and Ginny realized she didn't pity for him, she ached. It should have funny to see Draco Malfoy being taken down nearly all the pegs he had, but she couldn't bring herself to laugh. It was heartbreaking, no matter how much shared enmity had flowed between them, to see him bleeding like this.
"I've been dirt poor my entire life," she said slowly, softly. "And I can't say that I understand how you feel. But I can help make it as painless as possible until you get back to the top."
And because her breath caught in her throat due to the lump that had formed there, she darted for the door and escaped, searching both for toiletries and respite.
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