How could he sleep so…still? It was unnatural!
From the time Ginny had laid him down (in her bed, she might add) till the time she started checking in on him at eight the next morning, Draco Malfoy slept like a frozen log. He hadn't moved an inch since his head hit the pillow; his lank hair still scattered in silver disarray on her pillow, his one arm draped over his stomach while his other hung off the side of the bed, his legs mimicking the one on the bed and one off sprawling. He was almost literally the image of a dirty, sleeping, statue.
Ginny stood at the door way of her room, watching her sleeping tormentor's chest silently rise and fall with curiosity. Her mind was still turning over what he had said in his drunken stupor the night before. In fact, she had not been able to sleep from it.
"I'm sure she'll come back," Ginny offered, again stroking his hair.
"She won't," Draco said in a gruff voice as his tears began to subside. "She can't. He killed her…"
The who's, what's, and why's of it all hadn't been answered. Even in the long, stumbling walk home to her flat, Draco had said nothing more about it, leaving her unsettled and anxious. Were this Katie girl and her supposed murder real? Or was Ginny now harboring a recently diagnosed patient of the St. Mungo's psych ward?
The old grandfather clock in the main room of her flat rang its simple tune. Eleven thirty. Ginny was over an hour and a half late for work at the Ministry. This would be the third time this week that she would have to give an explanation to her boss in an attempt to appeal to his better nature. Claiming illness wouldn't work this time - that was Tuesday's excuse. Chores for the parents wouldn't work either. Tell the truth? No, that would be suicide.
Since the war, the Malfoy name had almost all but disappeared. Lucius died by his master's side as everyone had expected. Narcissa had retreated to some unknown place and hadn't been spoken of in at least two years. And Draco, the heir to the Malfoy throne, was seen as the traitor to all wizarding kind, despite his switch to the side of good. The only time one heard his name was heard was when it was followed quickly by a curse. So telling the overly vengeful Wilbert Hostensnout, head of the World-Wide Wizarding Relations department, that she had brought home the infamous Draco Malfoy, aid in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, would be like approaching a hippogriff after chucking a rock at it.
No, the truth was definitely out.
Quietly groaning, Ginny rubbed her tired eyes and tossed a few ideas around in her head. The clock was ticking; she was reminded as the soft clicks of the grandfather drifted throughout the flat. The more time she spent standing here thinking about ways to tell her boss she wouldn't be into work at all that day, the more time her boss spent growing that purple vein in his neck that always seemed to appear when Ginny couldn't make it into work. She couldn't afford to miss work, in all reality, but she also couldn't allow Draco to wake up in her bedroom. Who knew what he would get up to while she was at work, trying to appease her boss.
"Ruddy Malfoy," she mumbled, tossing him a glare before grabbing parchment and a quill of the desk near the bed. "He'll pay for this."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was bright. Too bright. Why the hell was it so bright?!
Opening his eyes, Draco glanced over the top of his blanket towards the source of the foul thing that had waked him. Definitely not the smartest move, he thought angrily as he was momentarily blinded with pain. Groaning, he rolled over, trying to hide himself from the accursed sun's light. His head ached with the symptoms of a bad hangover while his stomach began that slow yet awfully familiar lurching.
How much did I drink?
His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to recall the events of the night before. Bad move number two since waking. Thinking plus frowning equaled more pain. Couldn't he do anything right?
Pushing the heels of his palms against his eyes, he curled up in the fetal position and wished away the horribleness of it all. And it was horrible. From his head to his toes, everything was either in pain or feeling like it could cause him to vomit. Even the hair on his head felt like it was being forcefully pulled at. It was never this bad, ever. Or, at least he couldn't remember a time when it was worse…at the moment.
"I've got to stop doing this," he muttered feebly, vowing once again to fight his drinking problem. He said it like a mantra every morning it seemed but, by the time the sun fell, his promise was forgotten and he was back in some bar trying to drink the world away. It was just too easy to slip into his old habit. Like a blanket of protection, the feel of the alcohol as it mingled with the blood in his veins was a way of forgetting, a way to be happy for a few hours before he blacked out.
Pathetic, he thought, starting the usual rounds of mental abuse. Katie would never approve…
The thought caught him off guard, causing the air in his lung to suddenly evaporate. He gasped for breath as a fresh pain set in that had nothing to do with his hangover. His heart ached, Blaise's simple description of what had happened to her at once becoming all he could think about.
"She's dead! There's nothing we can do!"
No, he fought, she's not! She's still alive! He's lying!
Deep down, of course, he knew the truth. He had seen the newspaper in Muggle London that spelled out everything that filthy vermin had done to his beautiful, now dead Katie; how he had waited for her, talked to her, then killed her and screamed lies as they dragged him away. 'Demon,' he had called her, 'one of Satan's circle'. How wrong he was, Draco thought angrily as he clenched fistfuls of blanket. The bastard didn't know a thing about her. Katie was, for lack of a better comparison, an angel. She had cared for Draco like no one ever had. She had loved him despite his faults and had done everything in her power to make sure he knew it. She was the kindest soul that had ever lived and this man had known, no, ignored all of that.
Anger boiled in Draco's chest. That man had killed her for nothing, had killed her because of…
"Me," Draco whispered, so angry now that he was ready to repay the man for his work. Throwing off his covers, he began marching for the door…that was in the wrong place. For the first time, he was forced to look at his surroundings. A chocolate coloured paint covered the walls where holes and plaster should have been. Instead of his lumpy cot, there was a wooden frame with a perfectly good mattress and set of white sheets atop. An oak desk sat where the door was supposed to be. There was a window, a closet, a chair, pictures, a calendar….
"Where the hell am I?"
"My place. And it's about time you dragged you're sorry, drunken ass out of my bed."
Draco spun around so fast that his feet caught on one another, sending him tumbling. He landed with an unceremonious "oomph" before a pair of green coloured socked feet. The whirlies descended upon him in seconds and his hands quickly flew to his temples to try to ground himself. He groaned into the plush carpet and cursed the inventor of Fire Whiskey.
"Here, drink this."
"No more drinking," he moaned, his stomach lurching at the thought. "Can't do it."
"It will help, you great prat. I won't have you being sick on my floor."
Blindly, he reached for the offered remedy. A cup was placed firmly in his palm, a warm, putrid liquid bubbling inside. One sniff made Draco gag.
"Oh no you don't."
The cup was forced to his lips, his weakened state allowing the atrocity to take place. The liquid tasted as awful as it smelled as it passed his unwilling lips. It burned all the way down to his stomach, where it sat like a squirming lump. Draco was sure he was going to vomit but found that he couldn't. It was as if the liquid was bundling up the hangover in its mass, even his hair was beginning to feel normal again.
Cautiously, he pushed himself up. The spinning stopped almost instantly and he was able to stand without suffering. Whatever that stuff was, it had done the trick. He was even beginning to look forward to a night of heavy drinking again and it wasn't even one in the afternoon yet!
He looked up, smiling grimly but ready to thank the person with the concoction, and had his newly cured stomach plummet. Long crimson hair, wild hazel eyes, freckles…
"Oh Merlin," he whispered. "Weasley?"
Author's note: So it's been a while since I posted anything. I have been super busy with school and life so I have been unable to write anything until now. I will hopefully be able to work on all my fanfics over the summer, or at least get to a few. Sorry about the wait. JJJ