Rest In Pieces by Szaranea

Rating: R
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/09/2003
Last Updated: 07/08/2004
Status: Completed

**now completed** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy,
and you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know who…
Draco and Ginny have to ask themselves precisely that when facing an unenviable situation




1. Abduction
------------

Ivan Hardy Loeber 2 2003-09-06T10:36:00Z 2003-09-06T10:36:00Z 7 3155 17988 149 35 22090 9.2812
21 Rest In Pieces

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

Summary: What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and you
were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know WHO…

Chapter 1: Abduction

A soft breeze was blowing over the landscape, playing with the overly rich nature that was to be
found there as if it was some sort of toy. If you were blessed with the gift of a healthy
imagination, you could almost hear the wind giggling in delight as it caressed the soft, green
grass or the leaves of the beautiful, old oak trees that were to be found there and only there.

The breeze continued its journey of everlasting play and swooshed over the surface of a lake,
causing it to create little waves, stirring the nightly peace of the dark water. If anyone had been
around to pay attention to this little spectacle, the person would perhaps have sworn to detect
some sort of bristling excitement when the wind swept over the grassy hills that then led to a
large building, looming in the dark, so near yet so far away. So many open windows to sweep
through! Little slits to howl through! Candles behind closed doors to extinguish when sneaking
about! But there was nobody to see, nobody to care.

Yet.

Not a minute later there was. It was a little girl. Upon closer examination, it was perhaps not
a little girl from age, but she was small and seemed fragile, her skin glowing white in the
moonlight of the clear night that shone through her partially open window and gave the room a
surreal quality, because it only accentuated bright features and left the darker ones to total
oblivion. The color of her eyes and her hair you couldn’t tell, because it was all distorted in the
eerie rays of the full moon.

She was sitting upright in her bed, sleep still clinging to her features like water to wet hair,
dripping away, slowly, ever so slowly. She blinked once, then twice to focus her blurred vision and
reached for her nightstand to find something. Her fingers wandered over the wooden surface clumsily
for a minute, searching, until they got hold of something.

The girl smiled a little smile of relief when her fingers curled around the object and then she
whispered a word that was almost completely lost in the deafening silence of the night.
“*Lumos.*” And with that the room was illuminated in a warm glow that revealed the startling
red color of her mop of hair, that was now a mess of curls sticking every which way. Her skin,
which had been an almost ghostly shade of white in the moonlight was now still pale, but showered
with freckles, especially around the bridge of her nose. The loose sleeping gown she was wearing
revealed that the freckles continued at least over her shoulders and perhaps even further.

The wind, which had awoken her with a start by emitting a particularily nasty shriek had long
since moved on, but the feeling of uneasiness had stayed with Virginia Weasley, the sixteen year
old girl who was now sitting in her bed half awake, snapping out of a she hadn’t realized she’d
been in. She shook her head and looked at the watch on her nightstand. Its hands were both pointing
somewhere between the five and the six. *Oh, great* she thought glumly *it’s Saturday and
I’m supposed to sleep long.* She sighed and lay back down, wincing at the creaking sound her bed
made. Somehow she didn’t like breaking the silence. But soon she would have to do it again, since
sleeping obviously was not an option anymore. It was around the middle of November, therefore the
sky was still pitch black except for the moon that was casting its strange light over the scenery,
dipping it in the same unearthly light Virginia, or Ginny as everybody called her had experienced
earlier.

Silence. Ginny Weasley had hated silence once, but it had been a hate that went beyond
comprehension. She hated it, feared it, lived it, *was* it. She hadn’t been silent. She had
been silence. And she had hated it, still hated it now, years later. Hated being the tagalong, the
third wheel, the leftovers, the crumbles of the cake. But back then, she didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t
dare to break the silence herself, and she had felt almost always guilty for saying something, for
breaking the silence. To her it had felt like tearing skin. But eventually it had to be broken.
Only it would be painfully mended again, in a slow process that took years, and wasn’t completed
even now. Whenever she had spoken in the beginning, she had felt like Tantalus, who was forever
rolling the stone up the mountain only to see it roll down on the other side. Or was it Sysiphus?
She didn’t care. It had been a neverending story. She was just plain, shy Ginny Weasley, who lived
in a world full of her own fears and was dominated by everyone, even by herself. She longed for
nothing more than to be left alone, to be herself for once, but then she was afraid of loneliness.
It was a vicious circle with a one way exit, one that she had come really close to. But then
*he* had appeared. And he had not even seen the circle. He had simply dragged her out of
there. Now she was able to break the silence without guilt. But she still hated and feared it.

At the moment though, all that didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that another loud
growling sound echoed through her dorm, and upon realizing that it was her own stomach Ginny
Weasley blushed uncomfortably, even though there was nobody around to have heard it.

When her stomach gave another cry for food, she sighed impatiently and cursed herself for not
having eaten anything at dinner. But she knew that it was senseless, since a) she couldn’t change
it now anyway and b) even if she had known she’d wake up sometime in the morning she wouldn’t have
been able to eat anything.

She knew she had to do something to distract herself. Going to the kitchens would prove to be
useless, she knew that. She had tried it some other time, but without success. The twins had once
told here where to find the entrance, but she hadn’t needed to do so for years, so her memory of
their words was rather blurred. Go to the painting with the fruit bowl still life, tickle the
apple, and then it’ll open up. Or something like that. She had tried it out. It hadn’t worked.

So, instead of making her way to the kitchens, she pulled on her cloak, and searched for her
slippers until she found them halfway hidden under her wardrobe. She slowly made her way to the
front of the castle, carefully prying the doors open. When she stepped out, the cool winter breeze
that had been blowing for the whole week now immediately rummaged through her hair, tangling the
soft, red tendrils only more and giving her skin a fresh, pink tinge. She shivered a little and
pulled the cloak tighter around herself, wrapping her arms around her middle, and then walked over
to the edge of the lake, seating herself on a tree stump, enjoying the soft sounds the waves made
when they splashed against the shore, and the rustling of the leaves that were being whirled around
by the wind.

She was so absorbed in non-thoughts that she didn’t hear the light footsteps that were advancing
from behind until they were level with her position. She she turned her head around sharply to see
who had joined her when she felt a sudden, sharp pain in the back of her head and then everything
around her went black. Blacker than it had previously been, that is.

*+*~*+*

There was still blackness, but this time it was different. It was not the sterile blackness that
hat enveloped her until now, no, it smelled of something, something like dust, and old stone walls.
Also her nose felt somehow odd, as did her face. She tried to move but when a sudden wave of nausea
and pain surged through her she immediately stopped and whimpered. She wondered why her head was
hurting so badly until she remembered. The lake, somebody coming up to her and then pain. Only
pain. Right now she wanted nothing more than to lay in a nice, warm bed, and for the pain to stop.
She wasn’t granted any of the two wishes. On the contrary, the pain only worsened when she was
suddenly jerked upwards and turned around by someone or something, she didn’t know. All she knew
was that the darkness had faded a little, presumably due to the fact that she wasn’t lying on her
face anymore now. She saw something white, and a shadow looming over her. She guessed the shadow
was somebody human, since a voice came from its general direction.

“Weasley? What the hell did you do?” it barked. She blinked to get a better picture of what was
going on, but it was no use. “Dunno…” she croaked. “Hurts,” she added.

“Don’t play that game with me! What the hell did you do to me? And where is my wand?” the voice
asked harshly, and the person in front of her grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, shaking
her.

“Do t’you? My head…” was all she managed to say when the person finally stopped shaking her.
“Who’re you, anyway?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, she was beginning to see the outlines of her surroundings. It seemed
that she was in a room somewhere in the castle. It was dimly lit, and the stonewalls were a little
damp, so she guessed she had to be in the dungeons. She made out a mattress in one corner, a table
and two wooden stools in the other. Apart from that the room was completely empty, except for her
and the person in front of her. He – she guessed it was a he from his build – was standing between
her and where the only light source in the room had to be, so she could only see his outline. He
moved a bit to the left, and Ginny got a better look at him. He had white blond hair, slicked back
perfectly in place, smooth, pale skin, gray eyes that looked down on her scathingly over a
perfectly chiseled though a bit pointy nose. Taking one last look at his obviously expensive
clothes she had no doubt as to who her opponent was.

Suddenly her mind kicked in full force. She had been outside and obviously hit over the head
with something, and now was in a room that didn’t seem to have a door and with *him* to boot.
She tried to scrabble away from him, only she couldn’t, since her back was already resting against
the wall.

“What did you do?” she asked, her voice sounding squeaky. “Why am I here? Blackmail? You
obviously can’t want any ransom, you know our family hasn’t got any money and I’m not important, I
don’t know anything and-“ she knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Weasley? Do shut up!” he snapped and sat down on one of the chairs. “I didn’t bring you here,
you silly twit, and as it seems, you didn’t bring me here either. I suppose you don’t have your
wand?”
“Of course I didn’t! I was unconscious, so how could I?” she asked indignantly, and
after checking all her pockets added, “No, I don’t have my wand”.

“We-ell, seeing you’re a Weasley brat and therefore related to that oaf you call a brother, I
figured you had inherited his clumsiness…” he let the statement hang in the air and watched with a
trained sneer as anger welled up in her face.

Ginny jumped up at his statement, ignoring the pain that shot through every muscle in her body.
“Why, you, you oversized ferret, slimy bastard, you’re such an asshole, you know that? Why did you
bring me here?” she had stormed over to him now, looking as though she was ready to kick him
straight into next Tuesday.

He briefly pondered telling her again that he hadn’t brought her here, but decided that, while
he was here, he might have a little fun with her. “Well, what would I want to do with a girl in a
secluded room such as this…?” he asked, smirking nastily.

Ginnys mouth fell open. “You wouldn’t,” she choked out as her face started burning bright red,
and even Ginny herself couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or embarassment.

Draco raised one eyebrow suggestively and started smirking again but when he saw her dissolving
into a fit of really annoying coughs, he snorted derisively and then said “Come *on*, Weasley,
as if! I’d never lower myself to even *touch* you, sorry to destroy your little girl’s
daydreams. Besides, if I really wanted a good rumble in the sheets I wouldn’t have to abduct
anybody to do it…the girls usually line up in front of my door.”

Ginny who had finally managed to compose herself if not completely, then at least a
*little,* was really angry now. To her own surprise she let out something that sounded like a
low growl from her throat. *Wow*, some distant part of her brain thought, *that sounded
dangerous*.

She gave that part a nice kick in the butt for good measure and glared at Malfoy. “You are one
arrogant, conceited, overly self-assured, egocentric, ugly bastard,” she bit out between clenched
teeth. *You’re the little Ginny Weasley, you know? Nice, shy, little Ginny. Do you remember? It
would certainly* not *be a good idea to forget that just now!* She desperately clutched to
these thoughts so as not to jump at Malfoys throat.

Said boy was now standing in front of her, with a feigned look of hurt on his face and his hand
clutched to his heart. “Now, Weasley, that hurt. I mean,ugly? I’m not ugly, am I? You’re the first
girl to have ever told me that, you know? Where all the millions of others who told me otherwise
all lying? How unpolite of them.”

*Nice little girl, come here, sit. No, don’t bite, bad girl!*

Just when Ginny was about to lunge at him there was a loud BANG and in a matter of milliseconds
somebody was standing directly between her and Malfoy.

Ginny stopped in mid-move and looked at the person. It was not possible to define whether it was
male or female, since it was wearing a black cloak that was billowing around him or her oddly since
there was no wind at all.

“Now, what’s going on in here with you two?” it asked, it’s voice revealing it’s gender as
definitely male.

Ginny, relieved that someone had come to rescue her, breathed a long deep sigh and explained.
“Well, thank goddess that you came, I have no idea who you are, but Malfoy here kidnapped me and he
wanted to rape me or somehting-“ she started but was rudely interrupted by Malfoy.

“I did neither kidnap nor intend to rape you, silly twit,” he snapped.

“Oh yeah, and why should I believe you?” she retorted, narrowing her eyes at him in a manner her
mother often did when one of her brothers had earned the full focus of her motherly fury once
again. (100 points for the candidate, do you want the washing machine or the one week long honor of
doing the dishes. Oh, sorry, the washing machine was already taken, my mistake…)

The black clad figure between them chuckled and shook its head. “My my, you are a bit on the
slow side. He couldn’t have done it…because I did!” he said nastily.

“Thank the fates, I didn’t want to rape her anyway. Go ahead, but don’t forgot to use a gag, she
talks an awful lot it seem,” Malfoy drawled, sneering obnoxiously.

“I’d watch my tongue, Mr. Malfoy, since it’s me who brought you here, and although I intended to
have a little fun with you two-“ at this point the flicker of a queasy look flew over the blonde’s
usually composed face, but it was soon squelched by his Malfoy sneer “-but not that kind of fun. I
only came to tell you, that you are, my, ah, prisoners. And that in the next 24 hours starting from
now, this will not change.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “We are your prisoners? B-but why? I mean-“ at this point Malfoy had
stepped forward to land a nasty blow on the black hooded figures chin. At least in theory. What
happened was, that he punched right through it, causing whoever was hidden under the dark material
to let out a small, not very nice laugh.

“Oh, please. Do you think I’d be so stupid as to come here in person? This is only a projection
of myself. I’m standing in my room at the moment, and I’ll return there right now. Oh, just one
last thing: only one of you will come out of this chamber alive, so perhaps you should both start,
you know, dealing with things. Last wills and stuff.” With that parting shot there was another
cracking sound, and they were alone in the room again.

“One of us is going to die…who of us is going to die?” Ginny asked dazedly.

“Where the hell should I know? Probably you!” Malfoy snapped back angrily, either not realizing
or not caring that the emotion showed clearly on his face. He hated not being in control of a
situation. And right now he was everything but in control.

“Me? Why should I be the one to die? I’ve never done anything wrong in my life, whereas you’ve
probably already killed dozens of people, raped, looted, burned whole villages or whatever…” Ginny
shrieked hysterically.

“Oh, please, do you think the guy who has more white marbles will get out of here alive, or
what? And, just to your information, I have never, ever in my whole life raped a whole village. I
think it’s going to be you, because I would be exchangeable against money,” he said as if
explaining the difference between red and green to a small child.

Ginny snorted and plopped herself down on one of the wooden chairs unceremoniously. “Do you
really think this is about money? 24 hours and then one of you is going to die? Honestly. This is a
game. The epitome of evil and the nice, shy girl in one room, along with that message, let’s see
what happens, huh? This is a game Malfoy, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m not going to make
myself a pawn that easily. Besides, he was lying.”

Malfoys only reaction was to raise his left eyebrow a notch.

“He said that he was standing in his room, but somehow I don’t believe that. He wants us to
believe he was a student, and for the one to survive this to search for him in vain, but he really
isn’t. He’s somewhere out on the grounds, out in the open. Didn’t you notice his cloak? It was
billowing all the time, much too hard for an open window. But then, perhaps he is a student, and he
wanted us to think he wasn’t so the survivor of this ordeal wouldn’t…”

“Weasley? Shut up, for heaven’s sake,” Malfoy snapped angrily. “We’re going to be here for a
while, and I’m not going to listen to you talk all the time.”

Ginny sighed in defeat, and then crossed her arms on the table and rested her head in them. One
of them was going to die…

*+*~*+*

At the same time, quite some distance away the other Hogwarts students had seated themselves on
the table of their respective houses to eat their breakfast more or less peacefully. But at one of
the tables, the Gryffindor table to be precise, one student was not peaceful. He was restlessly
checking the doors of the Great Hall as if waiting for someone to step through.

“Ron,” the girl to his right said, “I understand that you’re worried, but Ginny is sixteen years
old, come on, she can watch out for herself. She’s perhaps only taking a stroll around the ground,”
she continued, leaning over and rubbing the boy’s back comfortingly, not noticing that her mop of
bushy brown hair was hanging into her porridge, which caused the boy to her right to chuckle. She
sat up straight, looked at the boy sternly and asked, “Harry James Potter, what is so funny about
this? He’s just worried about his little sister, there’s nothing wrong with it!”

The boy who had been adressed with the name of Harry shrank back a bit and said, “Sorry ‘Mione,
but er, I was only laughing because, err, your hair is, um, full of porridge, you kn-“ he didn’t
get any further because at that moment an athletic looking, black owl let a letter fall into his
lap and took off immediately afterwards. He eyed the letter curiously, his messy black hair falling
into his eyes, reminding him that he really needed a haircut. The bushy haired girl and the red
haired boy looked at him questioningly and he shrugged as if to tell them he didn’t know whom the
letter was from. He opened it and as he read the few lines his eyes grew bigger. Putting the letter
down sharply after finishing it he turned around to the Slytherin table, searching it for a
particular pointed face that was framed by immaculately gelled blonde hair, but to no avail.

“Fuck,” he muttered and jumped up from his seat, leaving the Great Hall, not listening to the
bewildered calls his friends sent after him.

The girl, Hermione, carfully pried the letter out of Harrys half eaten breakfast and wiped the
strawberry jam that still clung to it away with a paper towel and then began reading, with Ron
hanging over her shoulder.

When she had finished, she quickly turned around to grab his arm and shook her head. “Don’t,
Ron. Come on, let’s get out of here,” she whispered, leading the shocked redhead out of the great
hall.

“I knew it, I knew it,” he muttered all the time. When they were well on the second staircase on
the way to their common room he seemed to get out of his stupor, and he exploded, “That bloody git
had it all planned, he’s alone there, I don’t know where, with my sister, and she’s only a helpless
little girl, oh my god, he’s going to kill her, I’m going to have his eggs for this, I swear…” he
raged.

“Ron, keep your voice down, shhhh. The letter says they are both prisoners!” she said
reasonably.

“You don’t actually believe that crap? That’s Malfoy we’re talking about!” he exclaimed
indignantly.

“Come on now, Ron, we’re going up and find Harry, then we’re going to the library and we’ll see
what we can do, sounds like a plan?” she said torn between fear for the girl, pity for her friend
and the urge to not let everybody know what the letter had said.

The boy nodded defeatedly, and they trudged up the stairs to their common room in silence.

Be nice and leave a review, will you?

Cheers, Ri



2. Wands
--------

Rest In Pieces

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

The idea of somebody practising how to strangle women with a sausage is borrowed from William
Goldman’s fabulous book “The Princess Bride” (not to forget S. Morgenstern…)

Summary: What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and you
were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you?d be killed. But you don?t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

Author’s Notes: I didn’t intend on this (short) chapter taking so long. Actually it was finished
a long time ago…but some things constantly prevented me from updating: a school trip to Geneva, a
sprained ankle, my beta not sending me the chapter and me coming down with the flu. My eyes are
watering this very instant, because looking at the screen for more than a minute is pure torture at
the moment. Have fun, be nice and leave review, luv, Ri

Chapter 2: Wands

Ginny Weasley was a pile of emotional shit. She had been practically ripped away from everything
that had ever been her. Still resting her head on her arms on the cheap sprucewood table, she
sighed silently, upon seeing herself confronted with strange semi-philosophical questions such as
*If I am to die here, alone, and nobody will* *ever find me, then did I exist at all for the
world out there?*

There were some things that could be said about her that everybody at the school knew if asked
about it. She probably was nice, although, to be completely honest, nobody could really tell since
she was kind of a loner, living in a self-imposed exile of little socialising. She was childishly
infatuated with the one and only Harry Potter, supposedly following him around like a lovesick
puppy. She was Ron Weasley’s little sister. She had red hair.

But at the moment, all of that didn’t matter. Harry Potter was far, far away, as was his best
friend, Ron Weasley. And there wasn’t really anybody to talk with, except for the evil, devilish,
dastardly handsome Draco Malfoy, who was sitting gloomily in the darkest corner of the room at the
moment, trying to have a glaring contest with the opposite wall, and to his utter dismay, but not
surprise, it looked as if the wall was winning. Not that he was so stupid as to think it was
possible for him to win, but he had a reputation to maintain, and §3.2.2 of said reputation read
“Draco Malfoy can possibly outstare a wall”.

Not that he cared, anyway. He didn’t worry that much about keeping up his reputation, since it
was not a façade he had to put on like a glove. It was just him. He did whatever he pleased, and
lately that had revolved mainly in finding cunning ways to get girls into his bed and getting them
out of it again once he had his way with them. And he was really good at it. Draco Malfoy did not
care about other people. He treated them as if they were something you had to put up with, and in
certain circumstances they were even useful. Just like spiders. They crawled all around you, in the
dirt, over you shoes, everywhere, but you often let them, because they killed the mosquitoes.

He didn’t care, he was indifferent. He was cruel, and he was a sick bastard. The only person he
did actually care about was himself. He was mean. And at the moment he was in deep shit. One of
them was going to die within the next 24 hours.

Die…die…die…the words bounced off the inner walls of his head like a word softly spoken in a
voluminous cave. One of them was going to die. And it wasn’t going to be him. He would make sure of
that. He could just kill her and that would be the end of it. But he was a troubled teenager. At
the ripe age of 17 he had just stumbled over something he had never really grasped the meaning of
before. It had always been something exotic that happened to others, a disease that only the
mentally unhygienic could fall victim to. But here he was, struggling with the thing that was
dreaded most by his peers: his conscience. And it tore him up from the inside. It wasn’t even a
very strong conscience. In fact, it was ridiculous. He had just sat there, thinking of how to
dispose of the Weasley girl, when all of a sudden this tiny voice that sounded so very like his own
but still so different had piped up in his mind. It hadn’t even said much. What gives you the right
to judge over the life of somebody else? was all it had said. But that was not what had scared him.
Yes, he was scared. But not because of the content of that very simple question. The fact that he
was able to think something along these lines had seared through him like a knife ripping open his
very core. I’m going to be just like Potter, he thought with a sudden surge of panic. It can’t be
happening! And it won’t be happening. I am going to kill her.

Having decided upon that, he surveyed the room with cool detachment, searching for something to
do the deed with. A cheap but solid-looking table. Bang her head against it? Probably a little
awkward position for him. Two equally constructed chairs. Break off one of the legs and hit her
over the head with it? Perhaps not a good idea. Would be kind of embarrassing if he didn’t get the
leg off. A guttering torch. Set her on fire? Nah, too smelly and messy. A comfy-looking mattress.
Shag her until she dies of exhaustion? Nah, scratch that.

Taking one last calculating look at the room, he turned his gaze at his own hands. That was
probably the last and best method, and besides the only one he had left. He sighed quietly but
dramatically. He’d never thought she’d be the first person to do this with. He had actually counted
on Pansy being the first woman he would ever strangle. That was one of the things that brightened
him up whenever he had to endure her dull and nerve-straining company. He had even practised on a
really big sausage pretending it was Pansy’s neck so he was prepared for the feeling.

Trying to push the thoughts of strangling Pansy Parkinson into a distant corner of his mind, he
tried to focus on strangling Ginny Weasley. He got to his feet with feline grace, and walked over
to where she was sitting, apparently deep in thought. *Her last thought*, his mind added.
Taking a steadying breath he said the mantra *This is alright, just like killing Pansy, come on,
you hate the girl anyway,* over and over in his head again. Draco Malfoy was a good liar. He was
almost able to convince himself.

“Okay, Weasley, let’s get this over with,” he muttered, lifting his hands.

Upon hearing him say something, Ginny was violently ripped out of her thoughts and so she jerked
up and turned to him in surprise. When she saw what he was trying to do, she let out a scream and
jumped away from him just in the moment when he made a grab for her neck, but unfortunately she
stumbled over her chair. Malfoy was on her in a second, catching her before she fell to the ground,
then pressing her to the wall and closing his fingers around her neck, applying as much pressure as
he could.

Her eyes widened in horror as the full realisation of what he was about to do hit her and she
tried to scream again, but nothing came out of her throat. In a desperate attempt to save her
endangered life she clawed at his hands and tried to kick Malfoy in the shins, but he dodged her
flailing feet easily, and didn’t pay any attention to her fingernails that were digging painfully
into his hand.

The pain in her lungs and her throat was getting more and more unbearable with every second that
passed. She was getting slightly dizzy by now and just when she thought she was going to pass out
she felt the pressure on her throat go away and she watched as Malfoy was thrown across the room by
some invisible force.

She would have been startled had she not been too preoccupied with breathing and nuzzling her
abused neck. She was sure she’d have horrible bruises soon. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was
that she was able to breathe again, and breathe she did, hungrily and abundantly.

Meanwhile, Draco was lying at the other side of the room, rubbing the side of his head which had
hit the wall quite hard. When he brought his hand away from his face he groaned at the sight of the
blood that was all over his fingers.

*+*~*+*

The Forbidden Forest was silent today. But it was not the silence of creatures lurking in the
dark, watching. It was the silence of creatures lurking in the dark, but miles away. There was only
one living thing left on the clearing. You might think that this person was the cause for the veil
of silence that was strewn over the forest, but that was not quite accurate. It was just that
everyone and everything that had more brains than a hairpin had had this strange feeling of
foreboding and as virtually nobody had felt the urge to go there they simply didn’t. Even Crabbe
and Goyle, who had probably less brains than a hairpin had not gone there, but that was probably
more due to the fact that Malfoy was not around to tell them to. The person sitting in the middle
of the clearing leaning its back against a dead tree stump was most certainly the cause for the
sense of foreboding that everybody save Crabbe, Goyle and Professor Flitwick’s cat Pampers had
felt, but of course they didn’t know that.

The lonely figure was at the moment glaring moodily at the box it held in it’s hands, as if
willing it to do something. When it finally did, a nasty smirk settled itself on his face, making
him look quite eerie in the red light that the box was now emitting. “Let’s go,” he said to nobody
in particular.

*+*~*+*

Ginny, after finally having breathed long enough for her body system to return to a normal mode
of biological processes, was just about to do something – although she didn’t know what, precisely
– to Draco, or at least look for something that would help her to defend herself, Ginny was as
surprised as Draco when all of a sudden, the cloaked figure appeared with a loud bang. It stood
there for a moment and studied its surroundings, taking in every little detail. Ginny’s tousled
hair, her crouched position in the corner of the room, the ugly marks on the sides of her neck, the
blood under her fingernails that were currently clutching her dirty robe, the panicked look in her
eyes, the chair that had fallen over when she had jumped up, Draco, who was leaning against the
opposite wall, his cheek already sporting a reddish-violet sort of colour, the blood on the side of
his face, the torn backs of his hands, his disshelved hair, and the empty look in his eyes.

The man chuckled slightly. “My, my, boy, I think I forgot to mention something. This would be
waaaaayyy less funny if one of you died before those 24 hours were over, so I installed quite a lot
of protections and charms to prevent certain things, sudden death being amongst them. Also your use
of magic in here is strongly limited,” he almost sang, sounding as if he enjoyed this very much. He
probably did.

“Yeah, we already figured, since you took our *wands*,” Ginny muttered, giving the black
cloaked figure an intense glare. Draco almost whistled through his teeth in surprise when he saw
her doing that. He wouldn’t have thought that the youngest Weasley was able to look that menacing.
If he were a ninny such as Potter or her older brother or that mudblood he’d probably be scared of
her. But then again, Potter and his cronies were so stupid not to be afraid of anything. Or at
least they didn’t notice.

The silk-like voice of their capturer interrupted his thoughts when he continued talking in that
sing-song that had the kind of effect on Draco that asparagus usually had on little children.
Especially when they’d had had spinach for lunch and they knew exactly that the neighbour kid would
be on pancake cloud #7 at the very moment.

“Oh, yes, I forgot,” the guy said, pulling something out of his pockets and resting it on the
table. Upon closer inspection, Ginny realised it was their wands. At least she suspected it was
their wands. She could of course recognise her own, by the tattered look of it and the marks that
had been carved into the wood when Ron and her had had a “sword fight” with their wands back when
they had been a lot younger. Actually it had only been last year, but Ron insisted on it being way
back in the clouded mists of the past.

She guessed – correctly – that the other wand was Draco’s, simply because it looked so…noble,
compared to hers anyway. She was fairly certain that he polished his wand every morning and
evening. *Ewww,* the naughtier part of her brain thought, *that’s gross*.

“But do remember, the use of your wands is restricted to very simple charms here,” the cloaked
figure said, before informing them that they were of course not able to harm him, since he was only
a projection of his real self and they’d only hit right through him, physically or magically.

“Any questions? In case not, I’ll leave you to yourselves again,” he continued, indicating
clearly, that he did in fact not want to hear any questions. When no reply came, he nodded, and
with another banging sound he was gone again.

“Actually I’d have a question,” Ginny murmured more to herself than anyone in particular, “How
the hell are we supposed to use the restroom in here?”

“You’re not, Weasley,” Draco growled from the other corner, “you’re supposed to not go to the
toilet and die of blood poisoning.”

Ginny gave him a would-be evil look and went to pick up her wand, causing Draco to up and grab
his wand, just in case.

“Don’t be silly Malfoy, I’m not able to harm you with my wand, didn’t you listen?” she asked,
rolling her eyes, but then remembering his earlier actions and shutting up really quickly,
retreating to her corner, watching him still standing at the table, silently daring him to cross
the line she had mentally drawn through the room, separating what she figured was her part of the
room from his’. Then she decided that it was worth a go to try and heal her bruises and cuts with a
few simple spells. And, to her utter delight, these spells worked.

Draco, who had settled down in the opposite corner once again and was simply glaring at her, not
tending to his wounds. He told himself that it was only because he thought he looked more
intimidating with them, but really, who was he kidding? He simply was not able to do healing magic.
He’d never had to learn how to, because he always let others do the dirty work where you could get
hurt. He’d never admit that to himself though, and much less to her.

And so they sat there, each lost in their own thoughts, trying to ignore the fact that there was
another person in the room, and deftly pushing away the one thought that kept creeping into their
minds…they were trapped, and one of them was going to die.

A great many thanks to: **nAVEAH**, **michou**, **Arcaddian**, **Liz21**,
**Cindergirl**, **MeiQueen**, **VanillaPuF**, **Smashed Sunshine**, **satine501**,
**Miss.X** and **peanutbutter007** (ummm…would you prefer it if I wrote my story the “The
wind was howling. Ginny couldn’t sleep so she got up and was abducted. Then she realized Malfoy was
in the room with her. Where was she? What’s with this black clad figure”-way? Personally, I don’t)
for reviewing.

Luv, but no kisses (remember the flu…I’m contagious), Ri



3. The grotesquenesses of life
------------------------------

**Rest In Pieces**

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

Summary: What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and you
were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

Author’s Notes: Erm, well, I really don’t have to say much in my defense. I’m a lazy bum, I
know, oh, wait, here comes the idea that’ll save my life from your wrath: I had to study for my
driving test!!! Hehe, because by the time of November 14th I’ll be (hopefully) let loose
on the poor other Austrian automobilists! Uh, leave some reviews, will you? And now, on to the
story…

Stop! I forgot one of the perhaps most important thing that is to be said about my amazing, much
loved beta-reader and best friend Kat, who kicks me in the butt when I produce sentences like
“Taking one deep breath and checking for his pulse which was, though existent, almost gone.” You’re
the best!!!! Now, on to the stupid story…

Oh, wait, one more thing, and this is really **IMPORTANT:** if you’re engrossed by violence
and its, ah, after-effects, don’t read this. That’s part of why the story’s R-rated. This is really
sick, and perhaps originates from too many readings of Patricia Cornwell books and too many First
Aid courses. And I do not guarantee for medical correctness of this stuff, although I’m pretty,
pretty, verrrrrry sure about the CPR part. It’s more the rest of it that makes this chapter sound
like some science-fiction in the literal meaning of the word. I did some fictional things to poor,
poor, science.

Chapter 3: The grotesquenesses of life

What she wouldn’t give for a clock. She didn’t even mind if it was a candy-pink one with horse
design, as long as it showed the time. She’d never had a watch, since she didn’t actually think she
needed one. Having time attached to your wrist just made you watch it every minute or your life,
and really, she didn’t want to be a slave of time. Funny she’d have to end up like this, knowing
that, when a certain amount of time had passed, she’d be dead by a fifty-fifty chance. Malfoy would
probably call it poetic justice. Ginny thought it’d be poetic justice if Malfoy were raped by a
flobberworm and then trodden upon by a gigantic Neville Longbottom.

Upon thinking this, all further thoughts vanished for a moment. Had she really just wished
somebody else sexually abused and then killed? Granted, it had been by a flobberworm and Neville,
the least dangerous creatures walking this goddamn earth, although Neville could be a killer when
dancing.

How had she gotten that far? Only yesterday she had been nice little Ginny Weasley who had a
tendency to look at life and everything else a little cynically, but she’d never said anything out
loud. She hadn’t said anything out loud this time either, but she’d never wished anybody dead,
never, not even him, not even him…

“God, Weasley, please, stop it, I can’t bear it. It’s so plainly obvious that you’re talking to
yourself, you should see the way your face’s screwed up. It’ll freeze that way if you don’t relax
soon. Imagine, the last glimpse your family will get of you tomorrow will be like that. We wouldn’t
want that, would we?” At this point Malfoy’s face showed the ugliest sneer Ginny had ever seen in
her life.

“Because then the Weasley King would see his usual expression for the first time, and he’d run
away screaming and get himself killed, and thus began the saga of how the whole Weasley clan got
extinguished within a week without any exter-“

“You bastard!” Ginny screeched and forgot all about barriers or strangulation attempts, at least
from his part, and lunged herself at the blond boy, hitting him blindly with both of her hands,
which would have caused him barely any pain, had he not been injured already. As it was, each slap
or whatever you might call what she was doing to him in her blind fury stung like a thousand
needles being driven inside his skull and chest.

“You’re,” she hit him in the head, hard, while sobbing with each painful breath she drew, “by
far,” by this point he was trying to pry her off him, but not succeeding in anything because he
simply lacked the strength to do it and so he attempted to block off her blows “the most
obnoxious,” had they not been fighting more or less brutally their position would have caused Ron
to have apoplexy from shock “and vicious creature I’ve ever known!” and with that she suddenly
collapsed on him, sobbing hysterically into his shoulder.

To say that Draco was shocked would be the understatement of the year. Not only did he never
deal with sobbing girls, she was also causing him quite a lot of pain. If his father would be able
to see him right now he’d have him disowned without a second thought.

“Weasley, get h-off me,” he snapped, not at all contended with the panting sound that came out
of his mouth. He figured he had a broken rib that was puncturing his lungs. Just perfect. And
breathing wasn’t getting any easier with her half lying on top of is semi-sitting form. “Weasley,
you n-heed to get off m-he, h-I can’t brea-hthe,” he managed to say while trying to pry her off of
himself.

Upon realizing that she was sobbing on *Draco Malfoy’s* shoulder, and that he wasn’t really
breathing in the conventional sense of the word, Ginny slid to the ground next to him, not able to
stop the sobs emerging from her throat, while he was desperately trying to get something out of his
throat at all.

“Weasley,” he finally managed to say and grabbed her shoulder, shaking her as forcibly as he was
able to.

Ginny, deciding that perhaps she should really look what was wrong with him, noticed that he
seemed kind of bluish if seen through a thick veil of tears. When she hastily wiped them away as
well as she could, and he still looked blue, especially his lips, and that he didn’t appear to be
moving any more, her brain began trying to tell her that perhaps this was the opportune moment to
panic. To *really* panic. Luckily, at least for Draco, she had always been a person to rather
follow her heart, and not her brain, the former telling her that she really couldn’t let anybody
die, she simply couldn’t.

“Come on Malfoy, what’s wrong with you?” she asked in a voice that came really close to despair,
but not quite. She forced his mouth open to look whether he had something in his throat while
simultaneously grabbing her wand. When she found nothing, she ran a quick scanning spell, which was
kind of the wizard equivalent for an X-ray over him to check for injuries, and upon seeing the
deflated right wing of his lungs and the broken rib that was sticking in its direction nearly
screamed out loud. That was by far the grossest thing she’d ever seen, and that meant something
after the incident with Ron and his questionable underwear last summer. What was she supposed to
do? She had a mad idea of how to fix it, but that plan was relying very much on her luck and
magical possibilities in this room. And of course her stomach. She took one deep breath and checked
for his pulse which was, though existent, almost gone.

“Okay, Gin, you can do this,” she told herself and opened his bloodstained shirt, definitely not
admiring his well-sculpted chest, because firstly that would be really macabre and secondly this
was *Draco Malfoy*.

Grabbing her wand and putting it about half an inch higher than where the rib punctuated the
lung she whispered “*Severitus*”, cutting his flesh with practiced ease. Truth to be told,
she’d never cut any flesh with the spell, only clothes from her brothers which were simply too
large for her petite form.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it actually worked, since she hadn’t thought
that she’d be able to do so here.

She made a cut of about one inch and a half in length and then quickly cast a spell that would
stop the blood from flowing in the area of the cut. Noting with some satisfaction that she had made
a nice, clean cut straight through the ribs, just deep enough she pried them apart with her
fingers, not too worried about hygiene at the moment, since she could clean everything afterwards
with magic anyway. She flinched when she got to see the deflated lung in natura, and then gently
lifted the crooked rib and fixed it momentarily, so that it wouldn’t be in her way and also
couldn’t do any harm to the lung any more. Then she used a healing spell on the damaged tissue of
the lung and after a moment of contemplation thought of a way to restore the hypotension that
should be between the outer and inner layer of the lungs. She decided to make another cut and to
just drain a bit of the air in there and then fix the cut again. And to her utter delight it
worked, and the lung blew itself up in an instant. She then fixed the broken ribs with a flick of
her wand and then mended the tissue where she had made the cut. Done. There was only one problem
left now. He still wasn’t breathing, and now his heart had stopped beating too.

She wouldn’t swear, she wouldn’t swear, she wouldn’t, but then why the hell shouldn’t she
fucking not swear when they hadn’t done any resuscitation spells in Magical Healing class for gods
sake!!!!

“Just breathe, please!” she said faintly. “Don’t die on me right now, I don’t want to have seen
your fucking intestines for nothing.”

There was really nothing she could do anymore. Well, actually there was one thing she could do,
but she really, really didn’t want to. She would not cross that line. She just wouldn’t. She’d just
forget that she thought of it and have a clear conscience. But she didn’t. She knew there was still
this Muggle thing.

Sighing, Ginny gave up pretending and made sure that he was lying on solid ground, then pulled
his head back towards his neck so that his trachea wouldn’t be barred by his tongue. Then she felt
for his breastbone and at approximately it’s middle she turned her hands a little to her right and
his left, and started applying powerful pressure on where his heart hopefully was, 15 strokes that
would perhaps crush another two of his ribs, but he’d have a heartbeat then which would be the
lesser evil that having your ribs in perfect condition and being dead. When she was finished she
prepared herself for the grosser part of this whole act. She pulled his head back a little further
and pinched his nose closed with one hand and held his chin with the other, while taking a deep
breath and, sealing her lips over his, exhaling as powerfully as she could, watching from the
corner of her eye as his torso expanded like a balloon and then deflated a little again, another
breath, then further 15 strokes to the heart, then another two lungfuls of air, always checking for
a pulse or breathing activities in between. She was just about to give up when she felt the
lightest brush of air on her ear when checking for breath once again, and her hand also detected
faint movement of his chest, which was rising and falling slightly, but regularly by now.

She fell back with a contended and relieved sigh. He was unconscious, but alive. She had not let
him die. He wouldn’t have deserved it, even though he was Draco Malfoy.

Pulling herself to her knees again, Ginny started putting Draco into a position where he
wouldn’t be able to suffer suffocation because of his tongue and which was relatively safe,
checking his breathing (regular) and his pulse (growing stronger by the minute) again.

She was almost relieved when he stirred after a couple of minutes. Just now, she felt like a
heroine, even though she knew that it was highly probable that she’d never any credit for saving
Draco Malfoy’s life, not even from himself.

While hanging in her dreamworld and getting a Hogwarts badge of honor or something for saving
another student’s life, said student groaned and rolled onto his back.

“Fuck, Weasley, what did you do to me. My chest feels like you played jump-the-Malfoy with a
herd of elephants. Shit,” he sucked his breath in sharply when doing a particularly painful
movement.

“Well sorry Malfoy, I think I should have done just that instead of playing around with your
intestines, trying to get your lung, which was as useless for breathing as a vacuum cleaner is for
Quidditch at that moment, in case you didn’t know, to inflate again and mending quite a number of
ribs in the process. I could have really spared myself the sight of that ugly reddish gray mess in
there, you know!” she snapped, hacked off that he couldn’t give it a rest even if she had just
saved his life. It never occurred to her that he couldn’t know what she had done.

“You…you had your hands inside me, like really, I mean, ugh,” he sputtered, really angry with
himself for not being able to string the words together eloquently, “and besides, there is nothing
ugly on and in my body whatsoever,” he added indignantly.

Ginny just snorted. “Yeah, right, oh Mr. Handsomest Guy In This Chamber, that’s a good one.
Scolding me for what I did. I just saved your life, man, you could’ve died! Well, but then, I
didn’t really expect a halfway decent thank you, so I’m really not that surprised” she said
bitterly.

“Just how dense are you?” he asked while rolling his eyes melodramatically, and stopping
abruptly when he remembered that Draco Malfoy *never* rolled his eyes. That was just so
childish! “I couldn’t have died, since some guy wants us both alive until the last fecking moment
in here. I don’t believe it, do I have to tattoo it on your forehead or do you think you can
remember without such a drastic measure?” Draco attempted to sigh impatiently, but what came out of
his mouth was rather a crossover between a cough and something not entirely human due to the harsh
treatment his lungs had suffered recently.

“Oh yeah, that’s just the best idea you’ve ever had, tattoo it to my forehead when we haven’t
even got a mirror in here!” she retorted testily. “And besides, should I have let you lie there,
all blue in the face, dying?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done. You should have sat aside and waited until he
showed up you thick little wench,” he gritted out between his teeth, his patience, which was really
short by nature anyway, stretched further than this guy from the Guinness book of records could
stretch his ears.

“Tut, tut, but where would have been the fun in that. Personally, I think she did just the right
thing. And you do look like a wastepaper basket for what even the butcher’s dog won’t eat in there,
by the way, Malfoy,” the now familiar voice said in it’s usual sing song. Ginny and Draco both
turned their heads so that they could see him standing in the corner and leaning against the wall.
Although she couldn’t see his face, Ginny was quite sure that he was smirking. Hell, his whole
posture was screaming “big, bad smirk”. Unconsciously, she also wondered why he was able to lean
against the wall if he wasn’t even physically there.

“Just how long have you been standing there watching my attempts to save this, this –him,” Ginny
asked angrily while piercing the black clad guy with a forceful glare, which didn’t seem to impress
him in the least, while ignoring the voice in the back of her mind that was saying *Smooth, Gin,
real smooth. Oh my, I can’t stop admiring your eloquence.*

“I can’t give you the exact time I arrived, but let’s just say that what I saw was better than –
well not really better than sex, but at least better than bad sex, I suppose,” he mused, rather
than said.

“Ew, please, spare my virginal ears the fate of listening to your dirty little orgies, please,
we already figured you were the shackles and a whip type, no need to tell us,” Ginny said
half-mockingly, with her face screwed up so much that she looked four times her age, meaning that
she rather resembled a dried and wrinkled apple than even remotely human.

“As you wish,” the black guy replied almost huffily and vanished without a banging noise, which
startled the two remaining occupants of the room quite a bit.

After having regained his wits a little Draco cleared his throat and then remembered something
Ginny had said earlier. “Er, Weasley, just a question concerning the comment you just made: are you
telling me that you’re still a virgin, or did you just mean that nobody’s ever fucked your ear
properly yet?” he asked, fighting hard to control the gleeful smirk that was trying to struggle
it’s way to the surface of his until now blank expression.

“Just curious…” he added, trailing off when he saw the glare he’d witnessed earlier now directed
at him. She somehow seemed quite eerie when looking like that.

Draco turned around, facing the wall so he couldn’t see the Cheshire cat grin that had now
settled on his features. *Who would have thought? Welli-well, this could be fun,* he thought
to himself and to his utter contempt he even couldn’t suppress a snicker from emerging from his
mistreated throat. Apart from that particular sound making his whole breathing apparatus burn like
hell, he was sure that *Draco Malfoy does not snicker, because only evil* and *mad wizards
snicker.* And he, Draco Malfoy was neither evil nor mad. He was a sadistic bastard, granted, and
he had crossed the border of mental sanity at the age of two and a half years, and perhaps was the
third most wicked raving lunatic (quite close to 2nd place, Lucius Malfoy, but still
quite some inanities away from their mufti, Lord Voldemort) ever to have walked this world after
the invention of extra-soft and lavender scented toilet paper.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, you know?” a sullen-sounding Ginny interrupted his
thoughts by saying.

This time he couldn’t stop himself. This was fucking *hilarious*!

Okay, so I’ve said it before, I’m really sorry for the wait. Leave some reviews please, Ri J

And, last but not least, some thanks to my lovely reviewers:

**Sexytexy**, who seems to be clairvoyant, **Natalie**, whom I am very sorry to have
disappointed in not having uploaded any chapters in…quite some time, **Prue1912**, **Kat**
funny thing, my best friend and beta-reader Silver’s name is also Kat, **jane_valar**, thanx,
and yeah, I’m better, although a little jittery with the nerves thanks to my upcoming driving test
on Friday, **VanillaPuF, Naveah, Dark Illusion, Jade Summers** and **fastlanefan1,** and all
those nameless reviewers, who really should learn that it *is* possible to enter a name when
you’re reviewing, even if you’re not a portkey member.

I love you guys to bits!!!! And even those who’re not reviewing, *g*



4. Schrei nach Liebe (cry for love)
-----------------------------------

**Rest In Pieces**

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

“Schrei nach Liebe” belongs to “Die Ärzte”, a German band.

Summary: What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and you
were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I know that this chapter took ages, but here it is at last, and I have
decided to make this chapter kind of as a songfic, but not really…er. Well the title (which is
German btw and means “cry for love”) is actually the title of a song sung by the German punk band
“Die Ärzte”. Go listen to them, even if you don’t understand a word they’re saying. Stop, bad idea.
They’re so popular in Germany and Austria because of what they’re singing about. Go, listen to
their songs and ask for someone to translate the lyrics for you!

Chapter 4: Schrei nach Liebe

She was sure she was going to die of embarrassment. It wasn’t as if it were something to be
ashamed of, being a virgin, but still…you didn’t talk about that. Well her peers anyway. Hell, she
was sixteen, not twenty, or 25, or whenever you started having sex. She really had no idea. And
she’d lived quite happily without it, up until now, thank you very much. And she’d have gladly
continued like that, but nooooo, he just had to bring it up. It was so like him. At least she
suspected it was so just like him. After all, she only knew what everybody knew about him, that he
was a sick and twisted bastard, delighted in torturing other people and small fluffy animals (well,
nobody knew that for sure, except for Blaise Zabini, who, being the only thing close to a friend he
had, wouldn’t affirm their suspicions) and that approaching him before he had his daily dose of
caffeine was plain suicide, and even if somebody really had enough of his life he’d most likely
prefer just jumping out of a window than to confronting Malfoy at two-minutes-to-coffee am,
because, seriously, being suicidal really didn’t imply one wanted to extinguish everybody who was
so unfortunate as to be in a twenty feet radius of Mr. Personality.

Ginny was getting a little queasy after realizing that she had been abducted somewhere in the
wee hours of the morning, which meant that the last breakfast he’d had was probably quite some time
in the past. She pushed the thought of what might happen when he was finished smirking at the wall
to the back of her head and tried to think about something more pleasant, like, say, a fit of
diarrhoe during a Quidditch match. Poor Ron.

She was startled out of her reflections by a movement to her left. She turned and found herself
staring into a pair of steel gray eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. Somehow, she felt
transparent at his intense gaze, and the sensation made her shudder. He didn’t even seem to notice,
and just continued to fix her with his chillingly beautiful eyes, and Ginny started fiddling with
her sweater nervously, confused and delighted at the attention she was getting. Somehow the silence
in the room seemed too much for her to bear, so she decided to break it.

“What’s wrong Malfoy? There a spot on my nose?” she asked, laughing uncertainly.

He took his time with answering, and when he did it was just a laconic “Thanks”. He didn’t even
blink once.

“Wha?” Ginny asked stupidly, not quite comprehending his sudden change of behavior.

Finally he stopped his visual assault and dropped his gaze to the floor, the word “thanks”
flowing from his lips again, but this time it was more of a whisper.

“Did you just thank me for something? Did Draco Malfoy just say thanks?” Ginny asked
incredulously, eyeing him questioningly. “Thanks as in ‘Thanks for saving my life’?” she added
tentatively.

He looked up again and just said, “Yeah, appreciate it”

She cocked an eyebrow in a very Draco-like fashion. “You do, do you now? You know, perhaps there
is some kind of decent person, buried deep within all that dry ice that is Draco Malfoy…” she mused
amusedly.

He snorted in response. “Oh, come off it, I just said thanks. No big deal,” he snapped when she
dared to smirk at him, *him*! The nerve of that woman!

“To me it is,” she said quietly, her eyes turning serious at his nonchalant words. “And you’re
really not that evil as everybody makes you out to be,” she added, and he wasn’t entirely sure if
it was just to vex him or because she really meant it. He dearly hoped the latter was not the case.
Because that would mean he’d be trapped with a madwoman.

“Excuse me, but did you notice I tried to kill you not thirty minutes ago?” he asked tersely,
narrowing his eyes at the penetrating gaze she was fixing him with at the moment.

“Kind of hard not to,” she replied, rubbing her neck absentmindedly, “but I don’t think you did
that because you wanted to be *evil*!” The way she said the word ‘evil’ nearly made him
flinch. It sounded ridiculing, judging and condemning at once.

“You, Draco Malfoy, are nothing but a scared little boy deep inside, who hasn’t been allowed to
express his feelings, his fears from the beginning and knows no other way to cope with them than to
make others suffer the same pain, the same fear that you are experiencing,” she said, advancing on
him slowly, her voice getting more quiet with every word that left her lips, lips that would have
seemed apalling to him yesterday, but somehow, despite her harsh words, he couldn’t help but stare
at them with fascination, watching their every move, the way she bit them when she seemed nervous,
which she clearly was right now.

Draco pulled his gaze away from her lips, or rather focused on her whole face when he realized
she was looking at him imploringly.

“Huh?” he asked confusedly when he noticed two things: firstly, that she must have asked him
something by the way she was looking, and secondly, that her nose was barely an inch away from his,
and somehow, although he knew he really shouldn’t, he wasn’t resenting the feeling of her so close
to him. He was certain that, had he not nearly died ten minutes ago he’d be able to think a little
more straightforward, and he’d push her away and make a scathing remark, but he couldn’t. He
couldn’t, and he was hating himself for it. He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t. Not here, where no-one
but her was watching, not now, when he was feeling so uncharacteristically weak, not when she
seemed like she was the only female figure he’d see during the next hours, and perhaps the last.
The implication of that thought seemed to weigh heavier than lead in his stomach, and all the while
he was staring at her, and she was staring at him, waiting, waiting for him to break her gaze, or
to say something, and he felt so weak, so unbearably weak. And still all this was such a sweet
sensation.

“Malfoy,” she whispered, and he turned to look into her eyes, realizing for the first time, that
they were of a rich hazel color, “Am I right, Malfoy?” she continued, never turning her gaze away
from him. “You can tell me here. Nobody will ever know what happened in here, you know. You can
tell me, because only one of us will leave this room, erect that is. And if it is me, I sure as
hell am not going to tell everybody about your last moments, last hours, because they are yours.
And if it should be me who won’t be around to tell there’ll be no problem, will there? But I need
you to tell me. You’re afraid, aren’t you? You don’t want to die, right? I don’t want to die, and
I’m afraid, but are you?”

He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. He’d never felt so torn in his life. He knew what
he should say, should do, but he couldn’t, because she was right, because for once in his life, he
felt like he could do what he wanted to do, and *he* wouldn’t know about it, ever.

And so he opened his mouth to speak, for once, the truth, but it was so hard to speak when your
voice was so very hoarse. But he managed, eventually, to rather breathe than speak his answer.
“Yes.”

Ginny who had, up until now, regarded him as intently as he had her cracked at his simple
statement, and with a choked cry tears started spilling from her eyes, and sobs from her throat.
She rested her head against his neck and fisted her hands into his shirt, her whole body wracking
from her crying.

He was overcome by a lot of unknown sensations that very moment, like their closeness, her whole
body that was pressed up against his made him feeling slightly ill at ease and still so very
comfortable that his head started to spin, and the fact that she seemed so fragile this moment and
he wasn’t trying to break her was greatly disturbing in his eyes. What was he doing? What was she
doing to him? He didn’t even take the time to think that perhaps he was just as breakable as she
was that very instant, and that she could have easily snapped him in half, mentally, but she
didn’t. And he was afraid, oh, so afraid. He wasn’t even sure what he was more afraid of: dying
here, in this sombre room, or her letting go right now, leaving him alone even though she was still
there.

At this moment, there really wasn’t anything that he wanted more than for her to calm down, and
so he started to draw slow circles on her back with his hand, which after a few minutes seemed to
pay off, since her sobs were getting less violent and her breathing seemed to go a lot easier than
earlier. And he was relieved that her pain seemed to subside, and he hated her for it. But again,
he didn’t. He was so tired, he felt like he couldn’t keep his head any longer, so he let it fall so
that it was now enveloped in her soft, red hair, and some distant part of his brain registered that
she smelled of honeysuckle, a smell that reminded him of happier times somehow, but he couldn’t
quite pinpoint the feeling. So he just buried his nose deep in her neck and let himself flow in the
sensation. She started a bit at first at the contact, but then relaxed against him, and they stood
like this until she lifted her head to his ear and murmured his name as to get him out of his
trance-like stance. It took a while until he realized that she’d called him Draco, and not Malfoy.
He looked up in wonder and tried to ignore the stiffness in his neck from having his head in one
and the same position for a long time.

And again, he found himself staring down into the eyes of Virginia Weasley, the girl he hated
and wanted most at the same time, and felt an unfamiliar clenching in his stomach, which he
couldn’t quite place. They stood like this for what seemed like an eternity, staring at each other.
He never knew what made him do it, not even with what would be his last breath, he just knew that
he did it, and that was all there was to be said about it in his opinion. Although no other living
soul except for him and her would ever know, of course. But that minute, in that spartanically
furnished room in all it’s gloomy lighted glory, he, Draco Malfoy, inclined his head just a little,
so that their lips were touching ever so lightly, and he was thanking the fates for every square
millimeter of her skin that he was able to touch.

To be continued!

This chappie here is really bad, and I kind of wrote the biggest part of it in a slight fever,
and I kind of got the feeling that it reflects my current feelings. Feverish, I mean. Perhaps it
doesn’t. Also, most of it is written in Draco’s POV, and is more like an inner monologue.Hope you
don’t mind. Anyway, here’s some D/G action for all of you who’ve begged for it. Altough I just
think that after this chappie nobody’s gonna read what’s happening next. Dunno why I’ll even be
posting it.

Oh, and sorry that this chapter was so short, but I started writing something else today
which’ll appear here on portkey soon, but I’m not finished with that one yet. Anyway, it’s gonna be
an NC-17 one-shot, and neither my beta nor me have ever done anything like that, so if anyone who
has would help me out and tell me what they think about it before I post it, I’d be very thankful.
Just e-mail me at szaranea@hotmail.com, the story should
be finished either tomorrow, or at the beginning of the christmas hols. Thanx!

Thanks to:

**Frecklegirl87**, **michou**, **crazy_kitten**, **Crystal**, **sexytexy**
(little correction there: I’m not an Aussie, since I’m not from Australia, but *Austria*.
People tend to confuse these two. And actually I’m a May babe…), **Calliara Cenei**, **Satine
501** (yes, toilet paper. D’you speak german? In that case, there’s a band called
‘Wohlstandskinder’ who wrote an entire song about toilet paper. You might want to check that one
out, *winks*), **jane_valar**, **Crystal** (who seems to have reviewed twice and simply
forgotten?), **TrinitYMalfoY527** (I just realized that I was determined to get some despair
into this chapter after you left that review…and then I had some stressful weeks full of tests
since this is my last school year, and I forgot all about it. Sorry…), **Draconia** and
**Clair** (I know that the guy is kind of, er, stretching the capacities of one single
personality. I’d lie and say that perhaps he’s a schizo, but in truth, I er, haven’t quite decided
on who he is, see, and sometimes my mind tells me that he’s that person, sometimes this, fact is, I
can’t help it, but my description varies a lot. No cloaked guy in this chap anyway, thank the
fates…he’s a nuisance)



5. The peanut butter leg
------------------------

**Rest In Pieces**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.

The trousers of time do not belong to me, sadly. Terry Pratchett has to take all the blame for
them.

**Summary:** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and
you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

**Author’s Notes:** First of all, I’m sorry for the long wait - I had finals, and was stuck
with not knowing what to write after the first 300 words of this chapter. I told myself that I
wanted this chapter written before dropping my sister off at la gare this morning, sat down with a
cup of coffee, daring myself not to stop before finding a nice, evil cliffie, and something to
happen inbetween. I am still not happy with its outcome right now, but I fear that it won’t get any
better. Enjoy.

Chapter 5: The peanut butter leg

Her first thought was to – well, actually she had no first thought because her brain seemed to
have stopped working properly the moment their lips touched.

At first the kiss had been hesitant, almost chaste, but then Draco had grabbed and turned her
around, pinning her to the wall and at the same time deepened the kiss, urging her lips open with
his tongue. Lateron she could not explain why she did it, but right there and then she didn’t care,
so she eagerly complied, granting his probing tongue access, relishing in the feeling of his hands
that were drawing small circles on the sides of her waist, running her own fingers through his
soft, downy hair.

But even though she was almost completely lost in the intensity of the kiss, she did notice when
his hands slid under her shirt and upwards until they reached her breasts. Somewhere in the back of
her mind Ginny knew that she did not really want him to do this, to go that far. After all, she
knew what would inevitably follow next, and despite the pleasurably feelings that Draco’s touch was
creating, she was able to draw away from him, panting heavily.

“No,” she said when she finally regained the breath to do so.

“No?” Draco repeated, raising an eyebrow. “No what?”

“Just no,” Ginny replied, ineffectively tugging at her shirt. Judging from the low grumble that
her stomach emitted at the same time, she supposed it had to be somewhere around mid-day. She had
stopped eating breakfast somewhere during her fifth year, and started to get hungry only at about
noon or one o’clock. Damn. That meant that they’d been in that chamber for almost half a day
now.

“Time’s running away,” she mumbled into her non-existent beard, looking glum.

“Pardon?” Draco asked, obviously confused by her mood swing.

“I said time’s running away,” Ginny repeated.

Draco’s only response was to lift one of those infuriatingly perfect, pale eyebrows.

“It must be around mid-day,” she explained, sighing.

“So?” he actually had the gall to ask. “Tempus fugit," he added calmly.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to get your big head to see for about five minutes now!” Ginny
screamed exasperatedly.

“Calm down Weasley, I assure you that it was merely a matter of seconds,” Draco replied,
completely unaffected by her outburst, looking illegally calm and collected after such a snog.
Snog. At the thought of what had happened not too long ago, a deceptive blush crept up Ginny’s
neck.

Deciding to simply ignore it - it being about everything that had happened in the last five
minutes - she grabbed her wand and tried various spells that her mum had taught her last summer
after giving Ginny The Lecture for about the fifth time in a week.

She silently thanked her mother for the first time in her life for being, well, herself, when,
after some experimenting the table held a loaf of bread, some peanut butter and a glass of pickles.
It was not exactly the best combination, and the pickles admittedly appeared to be moving, but it
was the best she could come up with.

Trying to hide her self-satisfied smile she ripped off a piece of bread and started munching on
it enthusiastically, while she could see Draco eyeing the glass of peanut butter with a strange
glint in his eye.

He finally opened his mouth as if to say something, but then seemed to think the better of it,
scoffed, and reached for the glass, opening it in one swift motion.

Ginny blinked in confusion. Was she imagining things, or had he just almost *asked* whether
he could take it? Scrunching up her nose she nearly missed the look that he gave the brownish
substance. A look that she had never seen cross his features and that a strange part of her would
like to see directed at herself. One of utter adoration.

She watched him curiously as he dipped one elegant finger into the glass and her eyes went wide
as saucers when he proceeded to lick it off, repeating the motion when he was finished, completely
oblivious to her stares.

Ginny was more than acutely aware of what was happening to her that very moment. Some gland
thingy with a very strange name was sending out messengers to carry messages to some of her
intestines, all of which had very strange names too, and in the end, those would reply and send
messages out too, causing the parts of her body that a nice girl never talked about to do things
that they talked about even less. Ah, yes, the magic of pheromones.

The fact that she was a nice girl and would not talk about that stuff greatly relieved Ginny,
until she realized that she needn’t talk about it anyway: she felt…stuff.

When Draco had reached the point where he dipped his whole finger into the diabolical peanut
butter, and therefore had to lick it off his whole finger, alternately taking it into his mouth and
running his tongue up and down, the nice girl with the piece of bread in her hand was flushed like
a tomato and desperately trying to avert her eyes. But she couldn’t help it, her gaze was drawn
back to his face with the now shining eyes, his sugar- and fatcoated finger and his tongue, his
tongue that had touched her lips not too long ago.

Suddenly shoving him away seemed like the most foolish thing she’d ever done in her life. He was
so dam *sexy*.

Ginny’s eyes went wide when she realized what she had just thought. Oh no, that had not been
her. That had been the other her, the bad her. The one that would steal cookies when no one was
looking. The one that would wear that would secretly wear no underwear when she was feeling
rebellious because she’d had a row with her brother. The one that had secretly but guiltily thanked
God for making Umbridge suspend Harry, Fred and George from Quidditch in her fourth year because
she got to be in the Gryffindor locker rooms that way.

And Draco only noticed all this upon finally deciding that half a glass of peanut butter would
be more than sufficient to glue a fully grown man to a wall, and more than enough to upset a not so
weak stomach, and therefore put the glass down, screwing it shut and frowning when he saw that the
piece of bread that Ginny had taken earlier was still in her hand, which was hanging limply by her
side.

He lifted his gaze to her face in wonder, trying to decipher the more than strange expression
that she was wearing, and to find out why on earth she was blushing *now*. He probably would
have never found out had he not chosen that exact moment to absent-mindedly lick off a last piece
of peanut butter that he had overlooked earlier.

People sometimes talk about the trousers of time. It can go down either leg, and it does, in
some people’s opinion. What they think is that there are zillions of other, parallel universes that
all have second legs to their time trousers too. It apparently works like this: in what we consider
to be the real universe, a men gets up and tries to decide which foot to put on the floor first. He
picks the right. But at the moment he is trying to decide which foot to pick, time travels down the
other trouser leg too, and in another universe, the very same man picks the left foot.

Perhaps Draco would have not licked his finger in another leg. Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed
the look that crossed her face when he licked it in another leg of the same leg. But perhaps time
had forgotten to get clothed that day and everything would have happened anyway. The Draco and
Ginny in that leg didn’t even know any of this, and at least one of them would have probably said
“But it’s not jeans, right? I hate jeans. They’re so *plebeian*,” completely failing to grasp
the deeper meaning of trousers that went beyond fashion.

But they did not, he didn’t ask, and fashion was surprisingly the last thing on his mind at that
moment, when he was trapped in a small chamber with a girl he hated and the knowledge that the
chance that he might have to be carried out of there was 50:50 in the back of his mind.

“Like what you see?” he asked after long moments of silence, a mischievous but at the same time
dangerous light glimmering in his eyes that made her feel even more uneasy and trapped than before.
And she *was* trapped. Trapped in a secluded chamber, trapped with her supposed enemy who just
*had* to be dead sexy, trapped in her scrawny body that was anything but sexy, trapped in her
mind that thought such treacherous thoughts, trapped with being a Weasley that had to hate him,
trapped in a situation that suggested she was trying to free herself from some of her other
traps.

She finally broke his gaze, her cheeks flushing some more and snatched the glass with the
offending substance off the table. “No more peanut butter for you,” she said determinedly, looking
everywhere but at him, which proved to be a mistake when his arms snaked around her waist from
behind, one of them coming to rest on her abdomen and the other one reaching for the glass she was
clutching so hard her knuckles started to whiten.

*Snape in underwear, Snape in underwear,* she chanted to herself when she felt his body
against her back, his hot breath tickling her ear.

“Oh, but I insist,” he whispered silkily, drawing small circles with the thumb that was resting
on her lower stomach.

*If only I had some abs*, the part of her that had fortunately decided on wearing underwear
today thought, being immediately pushed away by the part of her that would never even get the idea
of not wearing it chanting *Snape without underwear, Snape without underwear singing ‘I’m a
little teapot’*

Although this did not help get the fog from her mind entirely, it at least cleared a little, and
she managed to do two things at once that made him stumble away from her immediately, namely
dropping the glass and elbowing him into the stomach with the boniest elbow of Hogwarts.

As the glass shattered and he tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of his lungs
Ginny managed to stumble away and lean on the wall for support, while realization of what she’d
done dawned on his features.

“You broke it! It’s gone!” he screamed, looking near frantic.

Taking a deep, calming breath she managed to appear semi-unaffected when she lifted an eyebrow
as if to say “So what?”

“I,” he began, his breaths heavy and laboured with barely suppressed anger now, “happen to like
peanut butter.”

“So it seems,” she ground out, a little unsettled by the dark and eerie expression on his
features that had been relaxed and delighted mere moments ago.

“You’re going to pay for that, Weasley,” Draco hissed through clenched teeth. “One of us might
not come out of here alive, and I honestly don’t know whether it’ll be you or me, but before that
happens, you’re gonna pay,” he ranted on, looking deadly serious about enacting dreadful revenge
upon the destruction of a glass of peanut butter. “Let me think,” he continued, a layering a little
thoughtfulness over his dark features, “what is it that a dirt poor muggle-loving fool like you
still has to be proud of, to value? Oh, right. Your *honour*. Your *decency*. You’re a
nice girl, aren’t you Weasley? Innocent, pure, and protected. Well, there’s no-one here to protect
you now, and you won’t be any of the other anymore either, before long, if I can help it.”

And something in his voice told her that he meant every word he had just said.


Well, that was the fifth chapter. Go kill me now. I think I’m gonna have the sixth chapter out
sooner, as I got a surge of motivation upon finishing this chapter. But if you think it’s horrible
and not worth continuing, and that I’m a lazy bastard, then I shall respect that and stop.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed this story so far - you guys rock. And the guy
who sent me an e-mail yesterday saying "Finish ur story on Portkey". I don't know
which one he meant, but it's kind of flattering, despite the commanding tone *laughs*



6. Revenge
----------

**Rest In Pieces**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.

**Summary:** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and
you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

**Author’s Notes:** I promised to have this one out soon, right? So, here it is. But I warn
you: Draco is soooo evil in this chappie, hehe.

**Chapter 6: Revenge**

“I really don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss about a glass of peanut butter,” she
said, trying to sound a little more confident that she was. “It’s not as if I can’t conjure up
another one with a simple spell,” she added each word taking longer to come out of her mouth with
every passing second.

He was very, very angry, she could tell, but she couldn’t fathom why for the life of her.

“You know exactly what this is about, little Weasel,” he hissed menacingly. “This is not only
about a glass of peanut butter, but also about you and about me. And last, but not least,
*nobody* refuses a Malfoy what he wants,” he continued, advancing on her. “If a Malfoy wants a
glass of peanut butter, he gets a glass of peanut butter. If a Malfoy wants you to give him a
specific glass of peanut butter, namely the one that is in your hands, you give a Malfoy said glass
of peanut butter, understood?”

Ginny nodded, despite not knowing what on earth he was on about. All the ifs were giving her a
headache and she was very close to telling *a Malfoy* that it did not sound eloquent when one
repeated one and the same word over and over again.

“Fine,” Draco finally snapped. “Then of course you do understand that I can ask whatever I want
of you now?” he asked with a predatory half-smile, still advancing on her until her back was
pressed up against he wall for the umpteenth time that day, stopping only millimetres before any
parts of their bodies would touch, and unknowingly causing Ginny to celebrate the return of the
pheromones.

Dazed by his nearness and the slight smell of peanut butter that clung to his breath it took her
a while to register what he had said, but even through the strange fog of hormonal craziness that
had settled over her valley of confusion she managed to see that his request was completely
absurd.

“No,” she managed to squeak out. “That’s nonsense,” she added, feeling that perhaps keeping
quiet would have been the safer road to surviving the next five seconds.

“No it isn’t,” he corrected. “It is completely sensible, and there’s nothing you can do to stop
me, Ginny Weasley. I take what I want from you, and you know what it is I want from you,
right?”

She swallowed and nodded, secretly cursing the part of her that found all this utterly
fascinating and exciting, the part of her that wished it would have insisted on not wearing any
underwear tonight. Unfortunately for her, said part was getting the upper hand on her subconscious
bodily actions, and therefore lots of glands were working on overload at that moment.

“Good,” Draco said in clipped tones. “First of all, I want a new glass of peanut butter.” He
shoved her wand into her hand. “Now,” he added when she didn’t budge.

Whispering the spell Ginny complied, although he had taken her by surprise with his request.
Part of her was relieved, and that other, diabolical part of her was a little disappointed - for a
minute she’d thought that he’d-

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered, stopping her train of thought and effectively eliminating all
feelings of relief or disappointment.

“My – my shirt?” Ginny asked perplexly, not able to stop the colour rising to her cheeks.

“My, I didn’t know people could blush at their necks,” Draco murmured into her ear, making her
blush even more – not only in her cheeks, as it seemed. “And yes, your shirt.” He took her wand and
the glass of peanut butter from her hands, setting both down on the ground beside them carefully,
as not to break them.

Ginny briefly evaluated her options while he was busy doing so – she could either refuse him,
try to kick him in the shin or do something equally foolish, be thrown to the ground and then
raped, or just play along and try to make the best of the situation. Him actually asking her to
participate in things was actually more than she could have hoped for, she told herself. Perhaps a
Ginny in another trouser leg would have kicked him, but this one thought it too risky. Besides, she
reckoned as he stood up again, his nearness did strange things to her. Apart from the now laboured
breathing, she was feeling tingly all over, and she could feel shivers running down her spine every
time she felt his breath on her skin.

And so it came that she lifted her trembling hands to the plain white shirt of her school
uniform, trying to undo the top button with sweaty hands while telling herself that this attraction
she was feeling towards him was a twisted kind of Stockholm syndrome.

It took her ages to undo all the buttons under his sharp and imploring gaze that revealed
nothing of what was going on behind the physical barriers of his head. She’d had half a mind to
tell him to look somewhere else because it was unnerving, but knew that the only thing he’d have
done was mock her, and so she refrained, trying to adjust to the situation as best as she
could.

After what seemed like hours she finally managed to finish the task and willed herself not to
blush as his gaze travelled along the expanse of flesh that was now exposed, nearly squirming when
he lifted his eyebrow inquiringly at the sight of her simple, white cotton bra.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” she heard him murmur while he pushed her shirt off her shoulders.
“Opens at the back, I presume?” he asked businesslike.

Ginny nodded and squeaked when he grabbed her arm harshly to spin her around sharply. “Ow,” she
cried out in indignation, “that hurt, you brute!”

He merely took one of the straps of her bra, pulled it away and let it snap back on her skin
playfully. “That’s not the last thing that’s gonna hurt for today,” he finally drawled, snatching
the clasp of her bra open. “You’d do well to remember that I’m not a *nice guy*,” he added,
not noticing the tears of terror that were gathering in Ginny’s eyes.

Instead he swiftly removed the last piece of clothing that was covering her upper body, flicking
it away carelessly.

“Now, to teach you a lesson,” he continued with a dangerous tint to his voice. “In the future –
should there be any memorable one for you, that is – you won’t treat peanut butter that carelessly,
I swear.”

And with that he picked up the glass of peanut butter, eyeing it critically while turning her
around so she was facing him again.

“Might need more,” he murmured distractedly, not paying attention to Ginny, who was trying to
cover her bare chest embarrassedly.

When he finally noticed what she was doing, she snatched her arms away and rolled his eyes.
“None of that nonsense,” Draco scoffed and first looked her in the eyes, then let his gaze travel
to her exposed breasts, lifting one of his perfect and perfectly infuriating eyebrows. “Nice,” he
commented, cocking his head to the side.

Then he proceeded to open the glass of peanut butter and shove it into her hands. “Hold this,”
he commanded, not taking his eyes off the round, creamy white globes and rosy pink nipples,
smirking when he saw goosebumps spread over the delicious skin he was looking at with rapt
attention.

Even though he had not planned on it he was sorely tempted to forget all his plans and just act
out on the desire that was slowly rising in his body, but he shook himself trying to block out
thoughts of doing things of a sexual manner with a Weasley, willing the feeling that his pants were
getting to tight to go away, remembering the purpose of what he was doing.

Taking a calming breath he shifted his gaze to the glass in her hand, dipped his right index and
middle fingers in and started smearing her left collar bone with the creamy substance, not thinking
about other employments for the word creamy, no, not at all.

Ginny meanwhile was stiffly holding the glass and regarding what he was doing anxiously. The way
he’d stared at her breasts earlier had first made her blush, shiver, sent goosebumps all over her
skin and then slightly worried.

Even though his fingers that were slowly rubbing peanut butter all over her torso were feeling
sinfully good, she knew who he was, and that he was dangerous.

But it was to no avail – when he finally reached one of her nipples after taking endless time
with the side of her breast, she was not able to stifle the moan that had been hiding in her throat
for quite some time now any more. She’d never imagined anything could feel so *good*.

The part of her that was not completely gone with wanton thoughts fleetingly registered him
smirking and proceeding with his strange work before even her last bit of sensible though decided
that sometimes being insensible seemed like a good idea too.

She relished the feeling of his hands on her skin and didn’t even notice him opening her
trousers until she felt cool air hitting her legs as he pulled them down along with her white
cotton panties, lifting her right leg to pull them off completely.

This had three effects on her: firstly, she blushed some more, secondly, she felt her nipples
that had been taut and erect before harden some more from the cold, and lastly, it brought some
sense back to her befuddled brain.

“What-?” she managed to ask through the haze of pleasure that had enveloped her.

“I’m not done yet, Weasley, and now shut up,” he snapped, sitting down on the floor, his eyes
level with the patch of red curls between her legs, which caused some more colour to rise to every
surface of her body.

Draco picked up the glass again, proceeding to cover her left leg with peanut butter as he had
done with her chest and stomach. And had the softness of his touch not catapulted Ginny back to the
hazy state she’d been in before he’d pulled down her trousers, she would have been frightened. And
had she not lost the capability of coherent thought, and had she not been afraid, she would have
noticed with one quick glance at his groin it would have been quite obvious that despite his
seemingly unaffected demeanour, Draco was clearly not unaffected by his actions.

As it was, she was not capable of coherent thought, and did not notice any of this. The only
things she was capable of noticing were the wonderful sensations his touch was creating, especially
when he had worked himself up to the insides of her knees.

She would have been ashamed of herself had she been in any other state when he reached her inner
thighs. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she must be presenting a rather wanton
picture, standing completely naked, her head thrown back slightly, one hand reaching back for
support on the wall, but she did not care right then. She was so far gone that she did not even
notice herself moaning loudly and throatily all of a sudden.

But Draco wasn’t, and he could hear her quite clearly, the sound shouting direct orders to his
painfully hard erection. Knowing that he’d have to stop soon if he didn’t want to spoil his plan he
quickly withdrew, taking the glass with him, got up and walked to the other end of the room.

Robbed of his touch Ginny opened her eyes, and saw him smirking at her from the opposite wall.
As the fuzziness in her brain would not dissolve it took her quite a while to process this
information, and when she did, the only thing that she was able to say was “Wha-?”

She was already feeling cold where his hands had been not too long ago, and even though she
hadn’t thought about it earlier she knew what she needed him to do, or she’d explode.

“My masterwork is finished, Weasley. You really are a sight like that, I admit,” he said,
smirking.

When she realised what he meant, Ginny could not hold back the tears of despair that were
welling up in her eyes – she was standing naked in front of her worst enemy covered in peanut
butter almost from head to toe. She felt sticky, dirty and had never been so aroused in her life
before.

He’d got his petty revenge for shattering a glass of peanut butter, all right.

“And don’t you dare move,” he interrupted her thoughts. “I’m going to sleep. If I wake up to
find you clean, or clothed, we’re going to have to repeat this again, understood?”

Ginny nodded through her tears. Oh, she was feeling so miserable. If she could just get rid of
that aching desire between her legs... but no, she would not stoop that low.

He had already created a perfectly degrading situation for her. She would not make this any
better for this sadistic bastard.




So that was chapter 6. Isn’t he *evil*?



7. Sweden
---------

**Rest In Pieces**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.

**Summary:** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and
you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

**Author’s Notes:** *groans and moans in agony* I have taken to call this chapter ‘The Sappy
Chappy’. I asked my mum this morning “Should I be nice or should I be mean?” (her initial response
was “Aren’t you always mean?”), and after some time she said “Be nice,” even though she didn’t know
what I was on about. So it’s all her fault *points at her mum* I blame it all on her, and the fact
that I’m of the opinion that in kidnapping cases the victims crave for human affection and contact
and search for them in the oddest places.

**Chapter 7: Sweden**

Laying down on the mattress on the ground Draco turned so he lay with his face to the wall in
order for Ginny not to see his reaction to what he’d done to her earlier. It was slightly
disconcerting to hear her sob quietly to herself as Draco was used to sleeping in absolute silence,
and hated any kind of noise disrupting him.

He hated crying girls even more, come to think of it.

Then again, there were few things that he didn’t hate, or even didn’t mind. Sex for example. Or
peanut butter. Right now, the possibility for getting both presented itself to him in form of an
annoying, sobbing mass. *Just my luck*, he thought, rolling his eyes, willing himself to keep
his patience.

All in all, he was rather proud of what he’d done to Weasley. He suspected that he might have
overreacted a little there, but didn’t let himself be bothered by that. Even though he wouldn’t
tell her that, but she’d been right: she could have conjured up another glass of peanut butter
anytime she wanted. He hadn’t punished her for smashing it anyway. He had acted because he’d felt
an odd sting to his pride when she’d refused to give him that glass of peanut butter, refusing him
by doing that. And so he’d refused her when she wanted him, in return.

He smirked at the thought of that. Oh, yes, shy, little Ginny Weasley had wanted him, that much
had been obvious. She’d looked like a pagan goddess in some strange ritual back then, her pale skin
glowing oddly in the gloomy light the torch on the wall presented, her whole body wound tighter
than a catapult ready to be fired, completely letting herself go. And it was his skill, his hands
that caused such a reaction in her. His male pride was definitely back after that stunt.

There was only one thing left to trouble him. Was revenge not a dish best served cold? Yes, it
definitely was. Unfortunately, Draco was not cold lying on that mattress, despite the chilly
temperature of the room. Far from it, actually.

No matter how much he tried to ignore them, he could not block out the pictures of the
expression on her face – screaming pleasure and exhilaration – or of how she’d moaned loudly when
he’d caressed her thighs. And those pictures combined with the knowledge of all that had gone on in
the chamber those past few hours gave him strange thoughts of what he wanted to do to her, despite
hating everybody she loved and liked, despite despising everything she stood for, despite resenting
the fact that she would probably put some flowers on his grave should he be the one to die in
here.

And all the while she was quietly sobbing to herself, in the corner of the room that might prove
to be her dying place, humbled and humiliated, as naked as the day she was born.

Strangely enough, that moved something in him that was neither of a sexual, nor of an evil
manner. Not knowing she’d thought something like that not too long ago, he guessed the Stockholm
syndrome was to be blamed for it, but Draco felt as if he had a strange bond with Weasley.

He did not even come close to liking her, but somehow he was ill at ease with every aspect of
their precarious relationship: either they were fighting to near death, which was not exactly good
for his health, or they were having peculiar, sexy moments that made him burn with a desire he
should not feel from the hands of a lowly person like her.

At that moment, Draco wished for nothing more than to be lying in his own bed and that nothing
of this had happened, much like everybody would, in his situation, but for entirely different
reasons. Draco was only slightly troubled at the prospect of his possibly impeding death. Of
course, like any other person, he did not want to die, but right now he was not too keen on living
either. And all because of her. Because she made him question himself.

Draco Malfoy did not need to question himself. He was always right, no matter what he did. He’d
lived like this for years, never doubting his judgement, never *having* to doubt his
judgement. He’d bullied, he’d manipulated, had others beat people up for him. He’d been mean,
sarcastic and petty, and he was proud of it. It was how he liked to be. He’d never been anything
else than a bastard, but he carried the name with pride as others would carry a prefect badge.

So how was it possible that he did not know what to do now? Oh, he knew what he wanted to do,
and he knew what he should do, all right, but for the first time in his life, the two were not
congruent. What he should do was sleep and wait for the stupid chit to snuff it, then go to his
room and have a wank thinking about some *Slytherin* girl. What he wanted to do was either
having a wank thinking of *her*, or, even better, making her spare him the effort of a wank
and let her do all the work.

And he wanted her to stop crying - 99 percent of him because it was annoying, and one measly
percent because he was feeling almost human in this chamber, with his thoughts and emotions written
more plainly on his face than ever – not that that meant much. And it was the human thing to do to
comfort somebody who was crying, no?

Deciding that he wouldn’t get any sleep anyway with her trying to flood the chamber with silent
tears, Draco got up and stalked over to Ginny, shaking the girl in order to make her notice him
through her tears.

“Jesus, Weasley,” he said exasperatedly, taking his wand and casting a cleansing spell on her.
“Shut up or I’ll get a headache,” he added and then unclasped his robe and threw it over her
shoulders.

Ginny blinked. Had he just been nice to her? Had he just acted like a *decent* person?
Mumbling her gratitude she pulled the robe tighter around her features and sank down to the floor,
still not able to stop the flow of her tears.

“Don’t think anything of it,” Draco snapped and was about to stalk to the other room in a
put-out manner when he felt her hands grasping the material of his trousers.

He stilled his motions and slowly, very slowly turned around regarding her coolly while lifting
an eyebrow in unspoken question.

“Just stay, will you?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

“And why should I?” he asked in a tone of voice that sounded remarkably Snape-like.

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to be alone,” Ginny answered honestly. She didn’t know what had
possessed her to do it herself.

“Weasley, I only covered you up because I’d hoped that it might shut you up. I told you not to
think anything of it, didn’t I?” he snarled angrily. Angry with her for asking him to stay, angry
with himself for wanting to comply.

“Please?” she begged with big, round eyes.

Rolling his eyes he sat down beside her, but he made sure she noticed his exaggerated eye-roll
in order to make it perfectly clear that he was not doing so happily.

He leaned his back on the wall and dropped his head back so he was looking at the ceiling with a
blank expression, just like the girl beside him was.

“So...,” she said beside him, not taking her eyes away from some imaginary thing on the stone
wall above them.

“So...,” he replied, at a loss of words. Strangely enough, sitting there next to her was oddly
comforting and relaxing. He noticed with some content that his arousal was fading which made the
situation even more comfortable.

Somehow the part of him that was himself was not able to spoil the mood. He wanted to feel like
he was feeling right now, as it gave him a sense of security.

“I don’t want to die,” Ginny stated, her voice barely a whisper.

“Perhaps you won’t,” Draco suggested.

“As much as I want to believe that, the chance for that happening is as big as the chance for
that not to happen.” She sighed, pulling her left knee up to her chest and leaned her elbow on it
with a fascinating glumness to each and every of her motions.

“Have you ever been to Sweden?” Ginny asked all of a sudden, startling Draco with her
non-sequitur. It took him some moments to shake his head.

“I like Sweden. The mangoes should be blooming there just nicely at the moment. And there’s an
elephant at every corner. Swedish people like to laugh a lot. They’re so open and friendly it’s
amazing.” She had a far-away look on her face that almost made him believe her.

Almost.

“Don’t be silly. Sweden is a Scandinavian country. There are no mangoes or elephants there,” he
commented dryly.

Ginny sighed again. “I know. It’s just I have this dream about Sweden. I’ve had it since I was
very small. I’ll never go there for fear of it being destroyed, but every time life’s being a bitch
I like to imagine that I’m in Sweden. Every time I argue with mum or Ron, I like to think that
everything would be better in Sweden,” she explained, and Draco marveled at her fantasy.

“There’s flowers everywhere, and the beaches are sandy and full of palm trees. I like everybody
there, you know? People are nice and friendly,” she went on. “I want to go there right now, but I
*can’t*,” she added, new tears coming to her eyes.

“Sweden has always worked for me. No matter how much I try to recall those images, I can’t hold
on to them. The borders are closed for me.” She was very close to start crying again, he could see
from the corner of his eye.

“Try Norway, then,” he said, surprising himself. “I’ve heard that the water there is full of
sharks, so you won’t get to swim a lot, but the countryside is said to be great. There’s a rather
impressive pyramid in the middle of one of the rainforests there that was built by the native
people of Norway over 3000 years ago. You know, not like these standard Scandinavian underground
ancestral tombs.”

Draco was aware that she was staring at him as if he’d grown another head, but he didn’t care.
He was enjoying this, and he guessed that nobody would ever know about it anyway, no matter who
fate would pick as it’s ultimate victim – for he knew that Ginny was likely not to talk about
anything that had transpired during their stay in the chamber.

With a sly grin, he continued talking. “Or Indonesia. Indonesia’s great for skiing.”

“I like snowboarding better,” she muttered, still not quite over the shock of him joining her
little game.

“Well, Ayers Rock is better for snowboarding. That’s in Australia, in case you don’t know.
There’s some slopes in every skiing centre in Indonesia where you’d need to walk with a snowboard,”
he amended.

“I hate that kind of slopes.”

“Yeah.”

“The Sahara should be cool at this time of the year, too,” Ginny offered contemplatively.

“Really?”

“Yes. Of course I’m aware that it’s dark day and night there, at the moment, but you can’t say
you’ve lived without having seen the Aurora Borealis like you can see it in the Sahara,” she
explained with an awed twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, the Netherlands have pretty impressive northern lights too, but you can only see them when
you’re at the summit of the higher mountains there. Did you know that the highest mountain on earth
is called *Keesberg* and is in Holland?”

The both looked at each other at that moment and snorted with mirth. Draco was very much aware
that he still did not like her, that he still hated her, but he was too weary to act out on it at
the moment. He could save that for later. Closing his eyes he leaned back and enjoyed the peace of
the moment.

“Oh, this is precious,” a silky voice said to their right. Whereas Draco could hear Ginny gasp
in surprise, he didn’t even open his eyes. He’d actually wondered where Mr. Swishy-cloaks had been,
as he hadn’t shown up for a few hours, which he was actually grateful for. The stupid cocksucker
would have ruined quite a lot had he turned up earlier.

“What do you want, you filthy piece of shit?” Draco snarled without bothering to open his
eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m merely here to tell you that your time is almost up, *princess*. You only
have one hour left. I suggest ye gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” the infuriating mystery man
said, and with that was gone again.

“One hour...” Ginny whimpered beside him.

*Yes, one hour*, Draco thought to himself. *Perhaps I ought to find myself a rosebush
first.*


Whew, that leaves me with only two chapters to go *celebrates* The end is so near I can almost
smell it, which I find very exciting, for I have never finished a novel-length story. Never ever.
And I know that this isn’t exactly novel-length, but it’s kinda longish, so don’t go and spoil my
fun.



8. Sunset
---------

**Rest In Pieces**


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling,
various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast
Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.

**Summary:** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and
you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

Author’s Notes: Tonight I was sleeping in my brother’s room, as the guest room which I have
claimed for the summer was occupied and my brother’s in Germany at the moment. I couldn’t sleep,
and therefore I started my brother’s computer up and wrote this chapter. Bear with me, it was
written between quarter to two am and quarter past three am.


**Chapter 8: Sunset**



An hour. That was all they had left. Things were definitely going critical now. One of them
would not be breathing in an hour. 60 minutes. 3600 seconds. How many thoughts was an hour? How
many dreams? How much was an hour worth, if it was the last you’d got?

Draco’s as well as Ginny’s thoughts were running rampant. Draco’s more so than Ginny’s, as hers
were mostly of the “Oh my God, I’m going to die” sort, whereas Draco was thinking about many
things. Things he hadn’t thought of in a long time, or at least not consciously so.

Hell, actually this was the first time in his life he was trying to remember every last
beautiful detail of the sun setting in Northern England, painting the horizon in many a warm
colour: red, orange, sometimes a last tint of yellow, bathing the landscape in their rays of fiery
beauty, making the world seem beautiful as a whole in the short time the spectacle lasted. And once
the sun was completely gone, there was only darkness left, that made what had seemed so beautiful
only moments ago seem even uglier than it would have been had the sun not gone down.

“I don’t wanna die,” Ginny whimpered beside him

“I *know*, Weasley,” he said impatiently. The magic of the moment they’d shared before the
violent intrusion of their kidnapper, so to say, was gone like the faint scent of flowers in the
air when a breeze came up: abruptly and stirring lots of dust.

“But if I die,” she continued without listening to him, or at least without taking offence, “can
you do me a favour?”

“No,” he barked disgruntledly.

“Tell my brother it’s in the pantry under the loose floorboard, a little to the right,” Ginny
said, ignoring him once again.

“I won’t. What is?” Slowly but surely he was losing his patience.

“That’d be so great if you did that,” she said airily while getting up.

“Well, I won’t,” Draco snapped, also rising and dusting his robes off.

“Thanks ever so much,” Ginny told him earnestly, as if he had actually agreed on doing it.

Somehow he didn’t feel like correcting her, because talking to her was beginning to give him a
headache. He didn’t want to die with a migraine, after all.

“I’m going to sleep,” she suddenly announced, flopping down on the mattress.

“Suit yourself,” Draco mumbled, sitting down again, took a piece of the bread she’d conjured
earlier and started tearing bits off it and munching on them thoughtfully.

Thinking over everything that had happened in the past 23 hours Draco vowed that, as soon as
those 24 hours were over he would not rest until he found the man who had done this to him.

He had been put in a situation where he was left absolutely helpless, and he couldn’t do
anything about it but wait and see. Draco hated few things more than being helpless and at the
hands of others, and it was giving him great pains that he was being played with. *He* should
be manipulating people now, not the other way round.

It should be him torturing ‘innocent’ people. It should be him mocking his victims. It should be
him, as it had always been.

But it was not him, and for the first time in his life the high and mighty Draco Malfoy had to
acknowledge that not everything was about him. He knew that the world would not stop turning should
he die today. It would continue in its seemingly slow path, spinning around its axe.

He had never given dying much thought until that moment, at least not in scenarios where it was
him who was going to get visited by the Grim Reaper. And now that he was forced to do it, Draco
admitted that he didn’t like the thought. Not at all.

And to think that his probably last meal were some crumbled pieces of bread. The last person
he’d see was somebody he could live without, or could have lived without before everything had gone
downhill because some sadistic lunatic had decided to have some fun.

Now he wasn’t so sure about her anymore. *Ginny Weasley, what are you to me?* He thought,
narrowing his eyes.

Was she the enemy? – Surely not. That was reserved for Potter and perhaps her brother. People
usually had a reason, a personal reason for being enemies. Potter was an arse who had refused his
friendship. The Weasley King was a git by nature, and was a friend of Potter’s. She was merely the
sister of the friend of an enemy. Did that justify calling her an enemy?

Was she an acquaintance? – If asked, Draco could have not told anybody her favourite colour, or
the dish she despised most. He had no idea whether she had any middle names, or how many brothers
*exactly* she had. But he was quite sure that she had shared some things with him that she had
never shared with anybody. Or was that too little for not calling her an acquaintance?

Was she an accidental lover? – So they’d shared one kiss. And he had got her all riled up and
turned her into a moaning and gasping pile of hot flesh and peanut butter at one point. But she had
never really returned anything, except for that kiss, and that only in the beginning. She had
thrown everything back at him. But then again, he had never given her the chance to rectify that,
had he? So did all that one-sidedness stand for something?

And only when she turned around and the he saw her hair fanning her face like a red and orange
halo in the strange light of the torch he was reminded of a train of thought he’d had earlier, and
suddenly he knew what she was to him.

Ginny Weasley was his sunset. He was not quite sure as to what that meant, but he knew she was.
She’d brought a gentle touch of warmth to his icy life, and should she leave, he’d be colder than
before, because he had experienced something other than coldness and indifference for once.

That was when he realised that, no matter who would die in there, the other would be miserable.
She, because she was kind and compassionate, because she cared, and because she was pure. He,
because he would be lost. He knew that he would carry on with his life as he had planned before
everything had gone haywire. He would become a Death Eater and join Voldemort in his crusade to
purge the wizarding world. But he knew that every night he would go to bed he would feel empty and
drained, and he would probably think back to the twenty four hours he had spent in a place that was
less real than a dream.

And still, while he was thinking all that, time was slowly but surely creeping away, the hands
on an imaginary clock moving at snail’s pace. But even snails reached their destination, and so
time was bound to do so too.

Draco knew that their time had come when the wall to their left started glowing, faintly at
first, but growing brighter by the second. He leaned over and shook the sleeping girl none too
gently in order to wake her.

“I hate you,” she grumbled without opening her eyes. And she did. She hated him, his family, his
way to say things, the way he walked, everything. She hated what he had done to her earlier, and
she hated herself for having been too weary to retaliate. Too weary, to humiliated and too scared.
She hated them both for it. Even though she would have loved getting revenge for what he’d done,
Ginny was aware that she would not have had the gall to do so, as she knew that he was aware that
everything she did to him he would return tenfold, and she could not bare another scenario like the
one that had passed earlier. And it was the knowledge of her own weakness that infuriated her the
most.

“I hate you too, Weasley,” he replied, giving her another sharp tug.

“*What*?” she finally snapped, turning around. When she saw the wall glowing in that
strange, bright white light, Ginny gasped in shock.

“I guess one of us has to walk into the white light,” Draco commented dryly, not taking his eyes
off of her.

“What’s gonna happen if somebody does?” she asked, trying to make out the source of the
light.

“Where should I know?” he snapped, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a diviner. My guess is, one of us
dies.”

“Just like that?” She was looking at him now as if he held the answers to all her questions.

“I don’t know. We’ll just have to find out,” he ground out, sounding less than happy with what
he’d just said.

“I suppose we do. Or we could try to walk there at the same time,” Ginny mused. “Give me your
hand!”

“The hell I will. Who do you think I am? I’m Draco Malfoy, I don’t hold hands. I’ll stay put,”
he snarled.

“Well, I’ll go alone then,” Ginny said, swallowing.

She’d taken a few steps and was about to cross the barrier of light when Draco shot up and
grabbed her by the arm, turned her around and slammed his lips down on hers, starting to kiss her
rather violently.

What surprised him about the situation was that she did not struggle, that she did not even try
to get away from him but rather pulled him closer. Trying to push his luck he nudged her lips apart
with his tongue and almost sighed in relief when she opened up and let him in, interestingly enough
slowing the pace of the frantic kiss down a little.

Draco didn’t know what had possessed him to pull her back, but right now he didn’t care, as he
was enjoying the outcome of his actions. He moved his hands to the small of her back, rubbing over
the fabric of his robe in small circles. Oh, his cloak. He’d forgotten that she was still wearing
it. He might have to ask her to give it back before she went to uncertain death. But then again he
might forget about that, after what she was doing with her tongue right now.

The temperature in the room rose as the kiss started to get more heated again and Draco moved
his lips from her mouth down to her neck, suckling on her pulse point, eliciting small moans from
her the harder he did it.

She was running her hands through his hair now, messing it all up, but he didn’t care. His own
hands were exploring her body, reacquainting themselves with it again. By the time he reached to
unclasp the only thing that was covering her body at that time, namely his robe, they were feeling
so hot they had to break the kiss, and Ginny actually almost fell to the floor, but Draco managed
to catch her before she did.

And that was when they realised that their passionate kiss had not been the only thing heating
them up. The light that had gained in intensity until it had reached its apparent peak had started
to grow warmer and warmer, and the room was already uncomfortably hot.

“You’ve got to go or we’ll both burn to death,” Draco said, his face red with the heat.

“I guess,” Ginny answered. “But you don’t hold hands, eh?” she added with a coy smile.

“I don’t,” he replied curtly.

Ginny nodded. He didn’t.

With that thought in mind, she turned around and stepped into the light.

Then, there was heat. There was noise. There was a scream – was it hers?

And then there was darkness.




Am I evil? I really, really hope that I am. But it’s so much fun letting you all try to figure
out who is going to die and who isn’t. *cackles* Ah, well, you’ll have to wait for the next – and
last – chapter of this story.



9. Reconstruction of a scene
----------------------------

**Rest In Pieces**

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK
Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and
Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark
infringement is intended.

**Summary:** What would you do if somebody locked you into a room with your worst enemy, and
you were told that at the end of 24 hours, one of you’d be killed. But you don’t know *who*? A
question Ginny and Draco have to ask themselves when facing a very difficult situation.

**Author’s Notes:** It is done. It is finished. I know that many of you will attempt to kill
me, but I’m not one to avoid certain things. I am also very, very, evil. Read the author’s note at
the end, for what I will say there might ruin this chapter for you if I said it at the beginning. I
need an answer.


**Chapter 9: Reconstruction of a scene**




When the veil of darkness finally lifted from the vision of the crumpled form that was lying in
the grass, the wind was still caressing the landscape with gentle touches, much as it had been
doing 24 hours ago, when the person in question had last been outside.

Slowly the huddled figure sat up, rubbing their head and then yawning tiredly while glancing at
the pale yellow moon that was about to nestle itself in blankets of clouds. The edge of the
forbidden forest looked like a looming wall in the distance in the eerie light, and the trees
strangely alive. All this didn’t unsettle the lonely figure that was currently half sitting, half
lying unperturbedly on the lawn that separated the castle from the lake at one point. But when the
weary form turned its head so that it’s eyes fell on a large heap of boulders and stones,
recollection of the events of the last day hit.

And the scream that followed this recollection was so intense and loud that, even in the wee
hours of the morning, people woke up from it and looked out of their windows to see where it had
come from. Some of these people’s windows actually revealed the origin of the heart-wrenching
sound, and soon the lawn was buzzing with life, after the Headmaster had been roused.

The figure on the lawn took no notice of the people surrounding it – it couldn’t really, as it
had lost conscience again. Exhaustion had claimed the young body again, taking its mind away to
blissful ignorance for the time being, but not after having grabbed one of the smaller rocks from
the heap in its hands.

Madam Pomfrey later told Professor Dumbledore that she had not been able to get it out of her
student’s firm grip, and had then proceeded to take care of the horrible discovery they had made
when removing the rocks and all the debris. It pained her heart to see such a young life put to an
end prematurely, and even more so when done in such an atrocious manner.

Wiping a stray tear out of her eye, the elderly woman fetched her wand, gripping it so tightly
in apprehension that her knuckles started to whiten. It had to be done, she knew, and she was
trained to do the job. And she would do it, even though it seemed like the most appalling thing to
do at that time, because she owed it to the victim and to its family. She was fairly sure that
they’d want to see their child one last time, perhaps even insist on an open casket.

After four hours of hard work, lots of reconstructive charms, and checking on the other patient
that was still lying unconscious in the room next to this secluded one, Madam Pomfrey looked almost
as ghastly as the body on the table in front of her, exhaustion and sleep deprivation adding to the
horrors of what she’d spent her time with these past hours.

Casting a cooling charm on the now fully reconstructed body and pulling a white sheet over it,
that, despite being fresh seemed to scream death when looked at, the witch extinguished the light
and left the room with one last backwards glance, locking it securely so no student would stumble
across the sad picture.

Dumbledore had told her not to over-exert herself, but honour and loyalty had prevented her from
going to bed and leaving the work for the next morning – which was now, anyway. The sun had just
gone up, and Madam Pomfrey still did not even think of returning to bed. She had a patient to tend
to, after all.

While opening the curtains and trying to get some order into the hospital wing that had been a
mess until now, due to lots of people rushing in and out of it last night, she tried to make some
sense of the scene they’d stumbled upon after a frantic Gryffindor fourth year and roused them,
saying there was a dead body lying on the lawn.

They’d been relieved upon discovering that the alleged dead body was still very much alive, but
unconscious. More than one professor had been sick after discovering what lay underneath the pile
of stones though, and even a trained healer such as herself had to restrain the urge to scream and
hide somewhere, telling herself the whole affair was just a horrible nightmare.

Professor Dumbledore, whom she had seldom seen look so grave yet sad at the same time had
ordered that classes be suspended the next day, that students were not to leave the school until
the scene had been cleared and for Gryffindors to be relocated to somewhere where they couldn’t see
what was going on outside.

He had also ordered the witnesses of the whole spectacle, if it could be called that, not to
inform anybody of what they’d seen just yet, not even family or close friends of either of the two,
which had caused some problems for Madam Pomfrey, for she had had to fight of Ron Weasley and his
two best friends for hours that night.

The boy’s sister had gone missing, and he had had a spell of hyperventilation right outside the
Infirmary doors after screaming that his sister was dead and that it was all his fault. Her heart
reached out for the boy, and she desperately wanted to tell him about his sister’s fate, just so he
would at least know what had happened to her, but she kept her promise to Dumbledore, for she knew
his reasons. Someone was bound to overhear conversations, and he didn’t want false rumours making
the headlines the next day in the daily prophet. “All in good time,” he’d said, and she trusted his
judgement, although she admitted to having doubts when seeing the broken boy who was alternately
sobbing and screaming.

While cleaning the floor with a disinfectant solution she contemplated the stranger aspects of
the crime scene, for she had taken to call it that. Clearly such an incident could not be an
incident, not after the two students had been kidnapped.

Madam Pomfrey was aware that she was the only one who had noticed this – the only one who could
have – but the two students had been strangely clothed. She had managed to reconstruct the tissue
of the crushed body, and not just the organic tissue, but also the clothing that the student had
worn, and, after looking at both the boy’s and the girl’s clothes, had decided that they must have
belonged to the same person.

All the girl had been wearing was the boy’s robe. Had she been -? What a horrible thought! She
hastily scrambled over to the fireplace and contacted the Headmaster, almost afraid to get an
answer.

“Good morning, Poppy,” the old man said with a weary smile. “I trust you didn’t get any sleep
either?”

“No, Headmaster,” she replied, looking slightly guilty as she said so. “But I’ve got an
important question: did you find anything, ah, strange under the pile?” she asked, trying to sound
as vague as possible. She’d left after having maneuvered the two bodies to the Hospital Wing, as
the rest did not really concern her, and it had been important that she tend to the living student
as soon as possible.

“Well, there were remains of what we suspect to be a table, and something that might have once
been a mattress. And some kind of material. It hasn’t been looked at yet, but I suspect it’s either
clothes or curtains. Professor Snape also found crumbles of an as of yet unidentified obdurate
substance. Any particular reason you’re asking?” he asked, regarding her over the rims of his
half-moon spectacles.

“Oh, no, I was just interested, is all,” Madam Pomfrey hastily said, aware that he did not
believe one word of what she’d said. “You must be busy, and I don’t want to keep you any longer
with my babbling. Good day, Headmaster,” she said, fumbling for words and then retreating to the
Hospital Wing again.

Good lord, it seemed as if her suspicions were not too far off! Of course she needed proof for
that. She couldn’t very well tell the family of the girl that she suspected their daughter might
have been raped by their capturer. Still she found it very noble of the boy to have given her his
robe, and the thought of that brought another tear to her eye. She would have never thought him
capable of such a chivalrous thing.

Her train of thought was interrupted when she heard her only patient for the moment stir, and
Madam Pomfrey immediately went into her professional Healer mode, grabbing a flask with a potion
she’d prepared, putting it on a tray along with a glass of water and made her way over to the limp
form in the bed that was currently trying to say something. The only sound that came from the
apparently sore throat was a croak, though, and Madam Pomfrey shook her head disapprovingly,
narrowing her eyes as she was prone to do when a patient did something that a patient should
clearly not do. She was not one of those cynical Healers that thought that patients should never be
allowed to talk, but obviously one was drained after a long stretch of unconsciousness, and
therefore much too weak to indulge in straining activities such as talking. *People never realize
how much subconscious thought goes into thinking*, the elderly witch thought with a sigh.

“Here, dear, drink this,” she said kindly, not able to be as harsh with this particular patient
as she would be with others. The poor child had seen too much horror in the past hours. After
helping her protégé with this task, she said with a stern voice “Now rest,” and left to inform the
headmaster that the student was now awake.

Said student held up the stone that had left marks on the otherwise unmarred skin of the pale
fingers and regarded it glumly for a few minutes.

“May you rest in peace,” the sore voice croaked after what seemed like ages, dropping the stone
onto the covers.

And in the back of her mind Ginny Weasley could hear his voice, clear as if he were sitting
right next to her.

“In peace? I’m not resting in peace. I’m resting in *pieces*! Ha, shambles, even!”

Yes, he would say something like that. Taking the stone up again, she remembered something her
mother had once told her, and smiled, albeit wearily so, before falling asleep again.




*~*~The End~*~*




**Author’s Note #2:** Okay, kill me now. But I actually left a backdoor for myself open so
that I could write a sequel. But only if you want a sequel. And no, I’m not going to resurrect
Draco, but I have ideas. Terry Pratchett is inspiring. So, does anybody *want* this pile of
rubbish continued?