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Consciousness seeped into his agony-filled brain. He tried to push it away, but it was insistently colouring in the bits between the burning pain.

Giving in to it, he tried to remember what had just happened and where he was, and failed spectacularly. He tried instead to focus his senses, at least the bits that were not just raw nerves, to see if they could give any enlightenment as to what was going on. Years of training that were so ingrained as to be beyond thought, beyond memory, caused him to remain still, warily gathering what information he could.

He was lying on a cold stone floor. Straining his ears, he tried to pick up any sound that might tell him where he was, if he was safe. The eerie silence left him with no choice but to open his eyes and cautiously look about. In the dim light he could see stone walls and a ceiling that were seemingly unbroken by doors or windows. He was apparently alone.

He gritted his teeth against the throbbing, knowing it would only increase and struggled to sit up. However, an invisible weight against his chest kept him pinned to the floor. A wave of nausea washed over him at the effort.

As he gave up and relaxed against the hard stone surface, pain, exhaustion and despair caused him to black out again.

**************************

A soft rustling entered Ginny's awareness. Her body ached from hour upon hour of sitting in the hard chair. Her neck was stiff, still in the same position it was when she had nodded off. Bugger, I hadn't meant to sleep. She lifted her eyelids and then abruptly closed them against the bright sunshine reflecting off the bleached interior of the small, tidy room. She scrubbed at her tired eyes with the backs of her hands, ran her fingers through her hair badly in need of a comb, and wondered if she'd ever feel the same about the colour white again.

"You should take a break, go outside for a bit," offered the medi-witch who was the source of the sound.

What is it with white and hospitals, anyway? Ginny thought. Instead she said, "No, I shouldn't."

The healer made a clucking noise. "It isn't as if he's going to go anywhere. You need to get out of this room."

An angry hiss escaped through Ginny's teeth, but the other witch just gave her a pointed look and moved on to her next patient. Ginny dug her knuckles into eyes again and sighed. She would like to leave, like to forget, but she couldn't.

She turned her attention to the still figure in the bed. His skin was almost as pale as the sheets, the ugly purple bruises blossoming in brutal contrast. The sun glinted off of his fine blond hair that fanned out against the pillow.

"Don't listen to her, Draco," she said softly. "I know you'll be up soon."

Another sigh.

"You just have to be."

**************************

Soft light touched his eyelids, bringing awareness. He lay quietly, listening for a moment, feeling the same stone floor beneath him, his body aching with remembered pain. Hearing only stillness, he took a steadying breath and opened his eyes.

The room was clearer in the pale light. He tried sitting up again. This time it worked. Though stiff and groaning under the movement, his body seemed once again to be responding to all his commands. Once he was upright, he slowly looked at his surroundings.

He was in a small stone room. Or perhaps cell is a better word, he thought, looking at the evenness of the blocks that made the blank walls, floor and ceiling.

He tried again to recall what had brought him to this place, but the bright pain of his last bout with consciousness had been replaced with a dull stupor. He was somewhat surprised to find that he wasn't even sure of who he was, or why he cared. Somewhere in the back of his brain a voice was telling him that it did matter, but the numbing haze began to drown it out.

The descent of the strange calmness meant he no longer worried about being cautious. After climbing to his feet, he slowly wandered about the room for a while, tracing the edge of the stones with fog filled fingers. His hand followed one crack all the way to the floor and he found himself sitting again. After a while he sank the rest of the way down onto the hard stone and fell back asleep.

**************************

Ginny stared out at the courtyard. How many days had she been here? She sighed, her hand unconsciously rubbing at her aching head.

"Look, he's a Malfoy. He'll get through this." Hermione tried to sound more certain than she felt.

"Tell me again what we know about this spell." Ginny concentrated on the world outside the tiny white room.

"Draco reported that the Death Eaters had been working on some ancient curses they'd found in Lucius' library. Compingo alucinor is one of them," Hermione explained. "According to Draco, it locks the victim inside his or her mind. The person will forget who and where they are and become completely unaware of the actual world. None of our wizards who've been hit with it have regained consciousness. A few have died." Ginny made a strangled sound and the older Gryffindor looked over towards her sympathetically before she continued on in a gentler tone, "Voldemort's supporters trained against the curse, learned to fight their way out. It just may take some time."

Frustration coursed through the fiery redhead. If only she'd known, understood. "Why didn't you tell me he was a spy?" her tone was reproachful as she glared out the window.

Hermione watched the other woman for a moment, wondering how she could help. Finally she spoke quietly, "You know I couldn't, Ginny. We had to protect him."

"Protect him?" Ginny whirled around, spitting out the words. Hermione flinched. "Protect him? When he entered the battle he had to fight both sides!" Her voice was tight with fury, the words sharp, flung out like knives.

"You know that wasn't supposed to happen. We had a plan to get him to safety."

Ginny stalked over to the bed, ignoring the pleading look in her friend's eyes. "Oh yes. Well he's perfectly safe here." She let out a frustrated sigh and felt her anger suddenly deflate. "Bugger, I'm sorry. I know it isn't your fault. It's just that he hasn't moved since he was hit."

Ginny started to prowl back and forth the length of the bed. Her feelings of helplessness prickled through her, an itch she couldn't scratch.

"What was he thinking coming into the battle like that? He had to know he would probably get himself killed…"

She could sense the rage starting to boil up again.

"Why did he stay and fight beside me?" She continued. "He should have been protecting his own skin! That's what Malfoys do, protect their own arse…"

As her tirade continued Ginny barely kept her fury in check. Her friend watched her warily, frowning in concern.

"And if he knows how to counter act the curse, why is he just lying there?"

The redhead's growing frustration from helpless days in Draco's hospital room, her anger at herself, at her friend, at the situation, at the whole bloody war coalesced on the pale Slytherin in the bed. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't fair. Someone had to fix it. If he would just rouse himself….

She pounced on him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him roughly.

"Malfoy! … Malfoy! … Malfoy, you prick, wake up!"

The blond wizard looked like a rag doll as she shook him more violently. Hermione grabbed at Ginny in horror, trying to pull her away.

"Ginny! ... Ginny! ... Stop!"

She had managed to get a hold of the other woman, breaking her grasp on Draco. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, he crumpled back onto the bed. Ginny struggled against her friend, pulling one hand free and swept it back towards the motionless Slytherin, still screaming his name.

"MALFOY!"

Her palm slammed against his cheek with a resounding crack, knocking his head sideways on the pillow.

Draco let out an anguished groan and then went utterly still again.

**************************

He jolted awake with a start, attempted to shake the fog out of his head and quickly sat up, pressing his back against the now familiar stone wall. The non-descript room looked exactly the same as it had when he had last been awake. With his heart still hammering in his chest, he wondered what it was that had just disturbed him, as he nervously gazed around. Shivering, he brushed at his shoulders, trying to remove the ghostly feel of another's presence, of hands touching him.

Suddenly pain sliced through him as one word hammered its way into his skull, and out his lips in an agonized moan, "Malfoy."

His voice was rough from lack of use. The word sounded strange as it echoed around the room. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

He sat waiting for the throbbing in his head to subside, hoping his thoughts would be more distinct, that he'd be able to remember more. However, nothing else seemed to pop out of the muddle inside his head.

It was as if someone had conjured a lumos next to his name. Now he could remember it with crystal clarity, yet everything else remained in the blackness just outside the light. He could feel the rest of the memories hovering on the edge, but persistently scampering away.

He let out a frustrated sigh and rose to his feet, kicking at the wall that had just been supporting him. He stopped mid-kick, realising something was different. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the archway. An archway that he was absolutely sure wasn't there before and yet looked every bit as if it had always been there.

Draco crept over the worn stone cautiously, and peered through the opening. A long deserted hallway that looked eerily familiar stretched beyond. Draco had the feeling that one of those memories hovering just outside his understanding would help make sense of it all. The corridor, like the room, had no windows and no doors, just unending stone.

That little voice was back, telling him this place was wrong, this room was a cell, and it urged him into the corridor. He didn't know why, but he went.

**************************

A grunt at the door drew Ginny's attention and she looked over to see Hermione trying to lead Ron into the room.

"But it's Malfoy!" His voice was a mix of anger and confusion.

"Yes, it's Draco." Hermione tugged at his arm in exasperation. "The one who fed Dumbledore information. The one who risked his life so we would know what was going on in the Death Eater's camps." She gave up and stalked into the room. "The one who warned Harry how and when Voldemort was going to attack."

Standing stubbornly at the door, Ron shot back, "He probably only did it to help himself. He's a first class git, Hermione, you know he is."

Ginny felt unwarranted resentment growing inside her. "He saved my life," she bit out, her cold tone cutting him off.

Emotions warred across her brother's face, gratitude, contempt, anger, helplessness.

"He probably didn't mean to." He muttered, but he finally followed Hermione into the room.

"He moved in front of me to take the curse. This was after I'd already hit him with one of my own. He didn't even defend himself when I came at him. When the group of Death Eaters came into the clearing I was sure I was dead. But Draco fought them beside me. We took them out one by one. When the last one cast compingo alucinor, Draco pushed me back, shielding me with his body. He…." Ginny choked back the tears, unable to continue.

Ron gaped at the pale wizard in the bed.

It was the most Ginny had said aloud about the final battle though she thought about it constantly, images running through her head like a muggle video on continual playback. The dark memories dissipated with the sound of Hermione's voice.

"He needs our help."

"Why me?"

"Because you and Draco have an emotional tie," Hermione explained.

"We do not!" Ron looked incredulous. "I hate him and he hates me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Hate is an emotion Ron."

"He reacted when I slapped him."

Ron brightened at his sibling's quiet admission. "You slapped him?" Ignoring her miserable nod, he looked expectantly at Hermione, whose mouth quirked into a grin despite her best efforts to remain serious.

"No Ron, you do not get to beat Malfoy up." There was a trace of amusement in the older Gryffindor's voice, "but you do get to insult him and yell at him, as long as it's about this." Their two heads bent over a parchment.

Ron's glee brought a small smile to his sister's lips despite her inner turmoil. She was disgusted with herself that she'd lost her temper earlier. Her relief that Draco had done something, anything, was palpable, but her horror that she had taken her frustration out on him was almost unbearable.

She grimly remembered the look on Hermione's face, her eyes wide with shock and dismay. And then Ginny had burst into tears. It was the first time she had cried since the battle, and torrent had seemed unstoppable. Hermione had held her, rocking her and whispering comforting whatnots. As the tears had begun to abate, the redhead had sensed that her friend's mind was a whirl with dawning realisations. Curiosity winning over grief, the younger woman had gathered her emotions and pulled out of the comforting embrace. She had recognized the familiar focus in Hermione's eyes that signaled she was a rapidly formulating a plan. Ginny had watched bemusedly as the older Gryffindor had rushed out of the room, assuring Hermione that she would be okay until her friend returned.

Her reverie was sharply interrupted as Ron started fighting with Draco. Well, his sister thought, perhaps fighting isn't exactly the right word.

"Malfoy, you worthless prat! Are you going to keep lying there like some useless first year who can't even battle a simple hex?" His voice was taunting, malicious.

"Ron!" His sister squeaked.

"What?" He looked aggrieved.

Hermione gave Ginny a warning look. "It's perfect Ron, keep going."

**************************

Draco walked along the endless corridor for an indeterminate amount of time, trying to marshal his blurry thoughts. No matter how hard he tried, however, all memory eluded him except his name. Eventually he slumped to the floor, and, in a fit of frustration, pounded his fist into the hard stone.

He was sucking at his abused knuckles when he heard the voice. He scrabbled to his feet, looking quickly up and down the passageway. It was empty. The words whispered around him, tauntingly indiscernible.

"What? Who's there?"

The voice became louder, more distinct. Draco cocked his head, straining to make out the words.

"Where are you? Can you help me?"

He wasn't sure why he had said that. Brilliant Malfoy, he swore to himself, make sure they know you're in trouble. And then the words became clear; the edges sharp like a razor.

"…You call yourself a Malfoy? No Malfoy would remain trapped in the compingo alucinor curse. Seven hells, even Goyle learned to find the door out. I can't believe you haven't found the door…"

The tone was snide, filled with contempt, and Draco felt his cheeks flame at the scorn. "I've been looking." His own voice was tight as he squared his shoulders and set off once again down the corridor.

As the unknown assailant continued to disparage him, a memory of a similar moment skirted forwards in his mind, and then dodged away before he could grasp it. Draco started to get really angry.

"…Potter would have found the door on the first day. Look at you, just lying there…"

Draco was furious. He still ached, he didn't know where he was or what was going on, and now some unseen enemy was taunting him. He stopped walking, his fist clenched at his sides. He closed his eyes, trying to keep in control in the midst of the incessant needling.

"…You useless git…"

Draco lost it. His eyes snapped open as he shouted, "I said I've been looking! Leave me alone!"

He was completely blinded by the bright daylight that washed through the corridor. Sudden silence pressed in on him. He let out a shaky sigh as his vision adjusted and turned his attention back toward the passageway.

It was lined with doors.

**************************

"That was creepy." Ron gave a small shudder. "Is he all right?"

"He's going to be," responded Hermione resolutely, a broad grin lighting her face. "I told you he was a fighter."

Ginny barely heard them as her mind raced frantically over the last few minutes.

Ron was enjoying himself as he jeered and derided Malfoy. Next to him, nodding approvingly, Hermione was mouthing, "door" every now and then. Ginny had not been able to look at Draco's impassive face any longer. She shifted her gaze, following the outline of his slender body beneath crisp sheets. It was then that she had noticed the Slytherin's hands starting to clench at his sides. Her eyes widened at the movement and she opened her mouth to say something when Hermione's startled gasp and the sudden silence from Ron jolted her eyes back to the head of the bed. Unseeing slate-grey eyes stared back at her from a pale face. After an eternal moment Draco's eyes dropped closed again, his fists relaxed.

"Okay, Ginny? … Ginny?"

The redhead started, returning to the present. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I'll bring you back some food."

"Ah, you're leaving."

"Ron needs to meet with Remus, and I want to keep studying Draco's notes." Hermione gave her a reassuring pat. "He's fighting it, Ginny." At the younger Gryffindor's weak smile she squeezed her hand. "I'll see you in a bit."

Her brother was still staring at Malfoy with wary eyes.

"Ron?"

He jumped at his name despite the soft, almost penitent, tone. He glanced somewhat nervously at the bed again before turning his attention to his sister.

"Thanks."

A wry grin quirked his lips. "Never thought I'd be trying to help Ferret Face." He met Ginny's eyes and sobered immediately. "Anytime Sis." The smile returned. "Let me know if you want me to insult him again. I'd be happy to make the time." He gave her a quick hug and followed Hermione out into the corridor.

Ginny sighed in the now too-quiet room. Running a tired hand through her red locks, she turned back to the bed. She stood for a moment, staring at the unmoving figure.

"What just happened, Draco?"

Silence.

Another sigh.

Slow steps took her to the chair that had practically become her home.

"Where are you?"

**************************

Looking down the hallway Draco shrugged to himself. Suppose I should start trying doors, he thought wearily, Suppose I could start with the one right here. He grasped the handle and, feeling a moment of trepidation, considered releasing it. He shook himself and pulled.

Draco found an austere room furnished in midnight blue wallpaper and dark wood. An imposing walnut desk squatted to one side of the study. Matching shelves lined the walls, floor to ceiling, laden with books.

Spell books, Draco thought suddenly, about dark magic and potions. He felt a little ill.

The curtains were shut against the night and the fire in the hearth brought no warmth to the stiff formality of the room, nor its occupants.

Draco started as he became aware that he was not alone.

A tall man stood near the desk, his pompous dignity surrounding him like an oft worn cloak. He was pale with long platinum-blond hair and eyes like shards of ice. Those eyes, glittering with disdain, were focused on the other person, a child of about eight.

The child, in physical appearance, was nearly a carbon copy of the man. His hair, however, was cut shorter, and it framed a rounder, softer face. In sharp contrast to his father, the boy's stance was one of submission. His tear-filled grey eyes were clouded with confusion and a desperate desire to please.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt - " Draco stammered and began to back out of the room, but stopped when he determined the others were unaware of his presence.

"A Malfoy never cries."

The cold voice cut through Draco. He watched the colour rise in the child's cheeks and felt his own burning in mirrored shame. The man, his father, Draco realized with dawning recognition, strode around the desk to his chair, ignoring the small figure. The gesture was one of dismissal that Draco knew he had seen countless times in his life.

Draco gazed helplessly as his younger self wiped at the tears and straightened himself in a childish version of his father's earlier arrogant stance. The youngster hesitated for a moment, observing his father with uncertainty, looking for some form of recognition. When none came, his small chin lifted in a startlingly good imitation of the older Malfoy and he turned towards the door.

With horrified fascination, Draco watched as his father tracked the child's purposeful stride. There was a contemplative expression on Lucius' face that had a hint of grudging pride. The blond looked back at his former self. As the boy started to open the door, the adult Draco heard his father concede, "I just might make a Malfoy out of you yet."

And suddenly he was back in the corridor standing in front of the closed door.

He stood for a moment, trying to absorb what he'd just seen. Trickles of memories were attempting to find their way to the forefront of his brain with little success. He shook his head hoping that might help clear it. Having no other option, he finally drew himself up and moved across the corridor to another door. Steeling himself to whatever lay behind, he pulled.

This time he entered, he found himself in an exquisite garden. A little ways away, sitting at a delicate wrought iron table was a woman. She was tall with long gold tresses cascading down her back. She was poised and might have been considered beautiful by those that overlooked the fact that her angular features were marred with a cool haughtiness.

Draco recognized his six year-old self running towards her, his blond hair ruffling in the breeze.

"Mummy! I painted you a picture!" The words were filled with innocence and love.

The adult Draco felt the force of his mother's reprimand as if he were six again.

"You are to call me 'mother'," she bit out as she looked at the picture and the paint-spattered boy holding it. Her face twisted in distaste. "And you are never to speak unless spoken to."

She shifted her attention to the nanny, who had just caught up to her charge. "We pay you so we don't have to deal with this sort of thing." Her voice was ice. "Get him cleaned up."

The nanny curtsied nervously with a mumbled, "Yes Mistress," and grabbed the hand of young Draco who was still holding his painting out for his mother, tears streaming down his face. She yanked him away.

Once again, as his younger self left the scene, Draco found himself back in the familiar corridor.

He stared at the row of doors grimly and then began doggedly opening one after another, watching the ensuing scenarios behind them unfold. Memories from the first eleven years of his life whirled and unwound in his mind, joys, triumphs, failures, reprimands.

Finally, overwhelmed with the memories and the resulting emotions, Draco sank to the floor. He wept uncontrollably, heavy sobs wracking his thin frame, until he fell into an exhausted sleep.

**************************

Ginny was prowling around the overly sterile space again while she fumed.

She had just been at the cafeteria, and during her return trip had noticed the splashes of colour - cuddly stuffed animals holding balloons, vases of flowers, reams of cards - that crowded the wards of the other injured wizards. When she had reached the familiar room, she had begun to fret that the only anomalies in the institutionalized décor were a small bouquet Hermione had bought and a card.

Ron had purchased the card from his brothers' shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It insulted whoever opened it in a loud obnoxious voice (the twins had modified the howler charm). Ron had blushingly proclaimed that it wasn't as though it meant he liked the ferret, he was only being practical since he couldn't always be there to berate Malfoy himself.

Ginny was currently working herself into a right good snit that Draco's room wasn't a bower of blossoms teaming with cards proclaiming him the hero that he was (though a practical voice in the back of her mind had already admitted that the Slytherin probably would have hexed anyone who'd sent balloons or plush toys).

When she began to pace back to the bed and noticed the sun glinting off of the wet streaks on Draco's face, Ginny stopped dead, all previous thoughts erased. She stared as another droplet appeared at the corner of his eye and slipped down his cheek.

Slowly she closed the distance to the blond, never taking her eyes off him. Once at the bedside she carefully perched next to him.

"Draco?" she called softly, willing him to respond.

Nothing.

She reached a tentative hand to his face. With soothing fingers she wiped away the tears, whispering to him as she did. "Draco, please come back. Please."

Harry and Hermione found them that way a few minutes later, Ginny gently wiping the unending tears from Draco's face while her own fell unheeded, splashing onto the blanket.

"He's crying," Hermione murmured in amazement.

They watched the scene silently until Harry finally cleared his throat. Ginny's head jerked up and she snatched her hand away from the Slytherin.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to startle you." Hermione looked apologetic as the two Gryffindors came further into the room. Ginny, feeling awkward, stood and moved away from the bed. Hermione was speaking again. "I just brought Harry along to try and do what Ron's been doing."

"Well, not exactly," Harry countered. His friend made to protest, but Harry continued firmly, "Hermione, I'm not going to yell at Draco. It wouldn't be right."

"But when Ron did - " Hermione finally broke in.

"When Ron did it was what needed to be done. Besides, it's the way those two communicate. But it's not the way Draco and I do, not anymore." Harry paused, looking slightly abashed. "Don't worry Hermione, I will talk to him and it will be just as effective. I promise."

Hermione gazed at him doubtfully, then sighed and sat down.

Ginny watched the exchange from her favourite position by the window. She studied Harry as he went to sit by the injured wizard. The concern creasing his face was made more poignant by the genuine fondness apparent in his expression.

"Draco, you prat, you weren't supposed to go into the battle like some bloody Gryffindor." The warmth in his tone belied the words. "Besides, you owe me a fire whiskey. Sod, if some little Death Eater's hex is going to get you out of that." Harry paused, gazing at the blond with a concentrated intensity. "All right, Draco, follow my voice. We'll find that bleedin' door." Harry settled himself in the chair and began, "Do you remember when we first met?"

Ginny smiled to herself and moved to join the others. Plopping down tiredly, she didn't meant to tune Harry out, but his voice was so soothing and she was so exhausted. She spent a hazy half an hour trying her best to latch onto the words that floated by her, occasionally grabbing 'Hogwarts' or 'Quidditch' or 'Snape' out of the air.

Eventually, despite her best efforts, she dropped off to sleep.

**************************

Draco groaned and rolled over, the hard stone floor unrepentant as the cold seeped into his already sore muscles causing them to stiffen even more. He idly wondered if there was a bed he could sleep in behind one of those doors, a place where he could rest his body, battered from - battered from what?

Eyes still closed, he probed again at his patchy memory.

He could remember quite clearly everything that had happened in the unknown space of time since he first awoke, bruised and aching, in this strange place. He frowned, trying to determine how many days had passed since then. Sighing, he gave up and returned to his first task.

He could remember with familiar certainty his childhood at Malfoy Manor. He knew who he was, who his parents were, who a sundry family, friends and acquaintances were during those years.

There was a big dark spot between the clarity of the recent events and the slightly time-blurred remembrances of his boyhood. That space was not empty. Draco could tell there were more memories hiding in the blackness. He wondered at how to shrink the void, how to encourage the reticent pieces of his past into the light.

The incessant hum that, he suddenly realized, had been there since he awoke was getting louder. Disregarding his so far useless musings, he instead concentrated on the sound. The drone started to separate itself into words. Draco's eyes flew open and he scrambled to his feet.

The corridor was still empty, yet he could clearly hear the voice of - "Harry Potter," he said aloud. Several emotions flicked through his brain: anger, hope, resentment, friendship, fear, rivalry, and settled on respect and trust.

And Draco knew with absolute certainty. Harry will help me.

He focused on Harry's words as they led him from door to door. Scene after scene from Hogwarts and the war played out before him at the voice's prompting. The gaps between filled in as other memories began to creep out from the recesses of his mind.

**************************

Ginny was pacing again.

It was late. Harry and Hermione had been and gone, as was their pattern for the last few days. Ginny was tired. Too tired really to be in motion, but she didn't want to think, so she was plodding about in order to avoid brooding.

It wasn't working.

She sighed and sank down in one the chairs beside the bed.

"What are we gonna do with you, Draco?" She was getting quite used to their ongoing, one-sided conversations. "Harry and I have talked to you until we're blue. It's rude of you not to respond. I'm sure your mother would be appalled. I'll wager Malfoys are trained better than that." She picked up his pale hand, absently tracing his palm as she talked. "And you let Ron get in the last word. What would Lucius say?" She snickered briefly, then sobered. "People are getting more insistent that I should take a break, spend less time here. Why just tonight Hermione tried to get me to leave with them." Ginny paused, studying her silent companion. "I think even she is starting to get discouraged. You haven't done anything in days." She gave him a wan smile. "Harry will hear nothing negative. He says you're a stubborn prick and he knows you'd never just lay here and let the ministry take all the Malfoy assets from you. He says you've never let him down in all the years he's known you neither as enemy nor friend."

The Gryffindor absently shifted from the chair to the edge of the bed as she brushed back the blond fringe.

"I'd like to be able to call you a friend. Would you let me Draco?"

Her fingers traced along his jaw, one digit drawing gently across his lower lip.

"God, you really are beautiful."

She realised what she was doing and shook herself ruefully. "I must be more tired than I thought. I'm hitting up on a Slytherin in a coma. It must come from sleeping in those chairs." She indicated over her shoulder. "I really need a proper lie down," she said as she stretched out next to Draco, propping herself on one elbow. "You don't mind do you?"

She was quiet for a moment as she studied the silent wizard. A frown creased her brow. "I wish someone had told me about you spying. I mean I'm aware that it was a secret, but if I'd known maybe things would have gone differently and you and I wouldn't be here."

Ginny could see the dark, mist-filled night of the final battle every time she closed her eyes, hear the cries of pain and triumph all around her. The memories were tangible, real, inescapable.

Ginny was alone in a small clearing, trying to catch her breath when Draco Malfoy burst through a copse of trees. He looked tired and disheveled, his alabaster skin marred with bruises, blood matting his platinum-blond hair. Ginny wasn't at all sure she could survive a duel with a Malfoy, but she'd do her best. Drawing herself up, wand gripped tightly, she put as much hate as she could in one word.

"Malfoy."

He started and swore under his breath. She saw surprise in his eyes and something else before they turned cold. He swore again.

"Why are you on the front lines? Trying to protect your precious Potter?" His trademark sneer looked strange across cracked and bleeding lips. "Get out of here, Weasley." He spat out her name and started to turn away as if assuming she would follow his command.

"I'm not one of your house-elves, Malfoy."

As he turned back to her, she let fly a hex. It knocked him to his knees as pain flashed across his features. Bracing for his counter attack, she was unsure what to do when none came.

Draco remained where he was, shoulders bowed. "Weasley, you've got to get out of here." He sounded exhausted, his breath labored. "You've got to go. Now."

She faltered. "Malfoy, I - "

"Ginny, please." There was desperation in his voice and, she realized with a shock, in his eyes as well.

Before she could process what was happening, four Death Eaters erupted into the clearing. As the spells started to fly, Ginny realized that Draco was on his feet again and protecting her back, fighting by her side. Before long he had taken down two of the intruders, and she had killed one. She aimed her wand at the remaining figure, but before she could cast, the dark wizard said a spell she didn't recognize.

The Slytherin beside her shouted, "No!" and deftly shifted in front of her. Pushed back on her from the force of the curse, the weight of Draco's inert body knocked them both to the ground.

Ginny struggled out from beneath the blond, wildly throwing a curse as soon as her wand hand was free. She made it to her feet in time to see the large boulder she had accidentally hit explode in deadly shards.

Bloody hell, she thought as she crumpled to the ground.

She came to and found herself lying half across Draco, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

She didn't know how long they lay on the forest floor before the medi-wizards had found them.

The memories became blurry after that, more surreal. She didn't remember much except that she had refused to let go of Draco, mumbling incoherently about the fight. Finally they had conjured a stretcher that would support them both and brought them to St. Mungo's.

**************************

Draco didn't know how long he'd been opening doors, it seemed like years, but now he remembered everything. He remembered Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts. He remembered classes and spells. He remembered the war. He remembered spying and being discovered. He remembered escaping. He remembered everything, except for the last memory. The one of how he'd ended up here.

He was exhausted and he ached all over. There was only one door left. He faced it, uneasiness gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Drawing on the remaining shreds of his inner reserve, Draco pulled the door open and entered.

He was in a small clearing. It was dark and the sounds of battle filled the night. Fear clenched his gut as he saw a battered Ginny Weasley. He wasn't sure that this was a memory he wanted to witness.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her. It was just before his second year and he'd run into Potter in Diagon Alley. They'd had a verbal set to and she had joined in the fray. He'd sneered and called her Potter's girlfriend, surprise that there was a female Weasley making him unable to think of a better comeback.

Later on, he'd been even more shocked to discover that he was impressed with her occasional boldness, that he thought her cute and wanted to get to know her better. He'd been silently furious with his father when he'd found out that Ginny had almost died because of what Lucius had planned with the Chamber of Secrets. He'd never admitted to anyone, not even to himself, that one of the reasons he had competed with Potter so much was a deeply buried hope that one day those amber eyes of hers would look at him with the same adoration they so often fixed on Harry Potter.

During this trip down memory corridor, Draco had watched repeatedly how his feelings for the fiery redhead had played a surprisingly significant part in his break from his father and a much darker path.

Draco was jerked back to the present by the sound of his name. His eyes flew to Ginny and was stunned to see her looking back at him, fear and hate rolling off her in waves. He swore softly to himself at the dawning realisation that he was not an observer this time. This was as tangible as Ginny's hatred. Hurt overrode surprise before Draco remembered to turn off his emotions and dropped the familiar cold façade. This was real, this was war and Ginny was here. He had to get her away from the danger.

"Bloody hell. Why are you on the front lines? Trying to protect your precious Potter?" Draco knew he shouldn't bait her, that it wouldn't help, but her loathing was slicing into him. He cut back. "Get out of here, Weasley." He began to turn towards the sound of the fighting close by. It did not occur to him that the redhead would not obey.

"I'm not one of your house-elves, Malfoy." The words were cold and hard and hurt worse than the hex she threw right after, though it was the spell that knocked him to his knees.

He could hear the fighting getting closer, feel the encroaching dark magic. He wasn't sure he could protect them both in his current depleted state.

"Weasley, you've got to get out of here." He was trying to sound like the Malfoy she was used to, but he was having a hard time catching his breath and his fear for her was growing. "You've got to go. Now."

The Gryffindor hesitated. "Malfoy, I - "

"Ginny, please."

She stared at him in amazement, amber eyes wide. Before she could respond, the dark wizards he had sensed, four of them, rushed into the clearing.

Draco surged to his feet and threw the first hex, catching one of the Death Eaters off guard. The spells flew thick and fast, but he and Ginny had the upper hand. Three of the enemy were down when he heard the remaining one throw compingo alucinor.

"No!" The anguished cry tore from his throat. Not Ginny, I can't let that happen to Ginny, was his only thought as he moved to block the spell.

Draco caught the hex full in his chest and he felt his body being slammed against the redhead before darkness overtook him.

**************************

Consciousness seeped into Draco's aching brain. Visions of the battle, the duel and the hex surged forward. He was unsure of what had happened since, but he was aware that he was no longer on the ground and his wand was not in his hand. He lay still, eyes closed, focusing his senses to gather what information he could.

He was lying in a clean comfortable bed. Soft light played across his eyelids and he could hear distant bird song and gentle, even breathing close by. There was a weight against his chest.

Well, the Slytherin thought wryly, I'm not in enough pain to have been captured by Voldemort's forces.

Draco opened his eyes and then promptly shut them against the bright morning sun bouncing off of white walls. Squinting cautiously into the glare, he gazed about the sterile room. He was relieved to see he was in St. Mungo's.

The side of light must have held their own at the very least, he mused.

Continuing to exam the room, he noted with interest that a small table near the bed housed a slightly wilted bouquet, Must be Granger, five get well cards, Five?!? and a plush too-cute snake, Potter.

The weight on his chest shifted, bringing his attention back to the bed. Upon closer inspection, Draco was shocked to find the weight was none other than Ginny Weasley. The lithe redhead was curled against his body, her head on his chest, one arm wrapped protectively around his waist.

This can't be real, he thought, I must be hallucinating from the hex. Compingo alucinor. I have to find the door out. It was then he remembered his time in the stone corridor. I did find the door, bloody hell.

He looked back down at the Gryffindor and lifted a shaky hand, weak from disuse, to gently smooth down her hair. Ginny stirred again, made a surprised sound and raised her head. Startled amber eyes met grey ones.

"Draco?" Her voice was an odd mixture of confusion, fear and hope.

The Slytherin was taken aback. He'd never heard her say his given name before. He'd never seen her look at him with anything but contempt.

"Ginny, what's going on?"

At the sound of his voice, the redhead seemed to realise where she was, and she quickly scrambled from the bed. Draco caught her wrist, afraid she would bolt from the room as well.

Any lingering doubts he had about the reality of the situation were washed away when they touched. He caught his breath at the warmth of her skin and the rapid beating of her pulse against his thumb. He had a million questions, but instead he waited silently for her to explain.

**************************

When Ginny first awoke, she was a bit muzzy. She didn't remembered falling asleep and was at a loss as to exactly where she was at that moment. She was unconcerned, though, since she could hear the soothing heart beat in the very masculine chest her head was resting on. The body below her was warm and solid and made her want to snuggle even closer to it as a hand stroked her hair.

Wait, a piece of her brain said, who is this?

So she reluctantly opened her eyes, lifted her head and found herself staring into two pools of silver. She managed a strangled, "Draco?" before her brain stalled completely, her body frozen with confusion.

"Ginny, what's going on?"

The sound of Draco's voice, hoarse with lack of use, had snapped her into action, causing her to scramble hurriedly off the bed while questions and fear and hope tumbled through her mind. She struggled to rally her thoughts into something coherent as a myriad of emotions warred within her. Surging to the fore was embarrassment at, not only sleeping next to him, but being discovered. Finally from the mix of feelings the practicality won through.

"I should fetch a nurse," she said, sounding every bit like her mother Molly.

It was then that she realized that Draco had a hold of her wrist. Her eyes trailed from his face to her trapped hand, Draco's gaze following hers. He abruptly released her.

Ginny knew she should get the nurse, but she was reticent to leave the room. They stared silently at each other for long moments.

"You spied for the Order," Ginny suddenly burst out.

Draco gave her an appraising look and then a short curt nod.

"It's okay, we won. Harry killed him. Hermione says he couldn't have done it without your help. She's been here every day. She comes with Harry. Well, she brought Ron at first to yell at you, but then she switched to Harry, only he doesn't yell at you, he just talks. He says you owe him a fire whiskey and …" Ginny trailed off as she noticed that Draco was quietly watching her, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh God, I'm babbling aren't I?" She bit her lower lip to stop herself from saying anything more.

Draco nodded again, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and Ginny felt herself go red.

"It's just that you aren't who I thought you were and I've treated you horridly and you saved my life," she mumbled meekly. She felt herself turn even redder, if that was possible, and wondered if she could feel anymore awkward. "I should get that nurse."

Ginny started to turn away, but Draco caught her hand again. When he didn't say anything, she finally raised her eyes to his.

"Please stay." Came his quiet request.

Ginny gaped at him. Draco looked away and blushed, stunning her even further.

"It is just that I've been alone so much, and the spell, it - " He stopped, let out a shaky breath, then continued, "I'm fine really, the nurse will be by eventually and I'll still be here, right?"

Ginny found herself nodding as she turned back towards him.

Draco seemed to gain some boldness at her assurance. "Grand, so you don't need to leave then. You can sit with me, maybe talk."

Ginny hesitated, shifting back and forth on her feet. She knew she should get the nurse, but she found that she was strangely loath to abandon the blond.

"Please don't leave me." The plea was nearly a whisper, and when Ginny met his gaze the desperation in his eyes made her heart clench.

The nurse will be by soon enough. Ginny sat down in her usual chair at Draco's side and wove her fingers through his.

"I'd never leave you, Draco."

~fin