Tonight she is slow to climb the stairs to his room. She is so tired that she feels winded after making it up four steps, and she has to stop and rest. The only solution that she can come up with as she makes the trek is that tomorrow, she will have to travel to Hogsmeade and buy some dreamless sleep draught with the last of her precious money.

She stops in front of his door and bends over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Suddenly his door whips open and he is standing in front of her, staring. She straightens up and meets his gaze, wondering at the frown that crosses over his face. He looks rested and well, and she is proud of herself for sacrificing the draught for him.

“You’re late.” He turns and heads back into his room, taking his place at his desk. She flops down gracelessly on the floor and crosses her legs, then takes her notes out of her bookbag. She glances up and is surprised to see that the book she gave him last night is on his night table, and there is a bookmark sticking out of the middle of it. She also notes, before she turns away, that his bed is neatly made and that the pillows are fluffed.

“You look like hell,” he murmurs, not looking up from his desk. She narrows her eyes at him and scowls.

“Thank you for that, Captain Obvious,” she says waspishly. It is only then that she remembers that her glamour charm from early this morning must have worn off, and inwardly she groans.

He looks up, surprised by her tone, and she waves her hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. Go on, make with the tutoring.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Weasley,” he says, aggravated.

“If you’d just do it, I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

“Someone is cranky today, aren’t they?” he asks, smirking. She knows that he doesn’t realize that in giving him her draughts, she is losing valuable sleep, and so she doesn’t hold it against him, even though she wants to. She knows that he doesn’t know about the horrors that visit her when she does sleep, though she highly suspects that they visit him when he sleeps, too.

“And if I am? What of it?”

“You really should be nicer to someone who’s trying to help you, you know.”

“It’s not as if you’re doing it out of the goodness of your own heart,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “You’re being forced to, remember?”

“I’m being forced to tutor. I’m not being forced to tutor you.”

“Oh, right. I forgot – Saint Malfoy, taking on the youngest Weasley!” She touches the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon. To her great surprise, he grins. It is a real smile, too, she can tell. The corners of his eyes crinkle up, and the wrinkles in his forehead smooth away. She is too stunned to respond, but she knows immediately that she likes his smile.

“You’re stupid.” His smile has faded, but his voice indicates that he is clearly still amused. She shrugs.

“What can I say, it’s a gift.”

He abandons hope of a response and they manage to muddle through the rest of the session without further incident. When she is packing her things back into her bookbag, he turns his back to her and moves to stand in front of one of his windows.

“I expect I’ll see you in two weeks,” he says. She looks up and her hand stops moving just above her bag. She can hear something in his voice; something that she is sure that she is not meant to hear.

“I guess so,” she agrees, sliding her book into the bag. “I mean, I’m not going home for Christmas, so if you were walking the halls, I’d see you. But since I know you’re not prone to doing that, then yeah, it’ll probably be two weeks.”

“You’re not going home?” he asks, still facing the other way. “I thought that all war survivors visited family as frequently as they could after the war ended.”

“You’d be surprised,” she mumbles. “My brother is going home, and he’s taking Harry, Hermione, and Blaise, but I just couldn’t deal with the crowd this year.” At the sound of his old housemate’s name, he turns.

“Zabini is going to your home, with Potter?”

“They’re great friends,” she says, nodding. “Actually, I’d be surprised if anyone else is staying in Gryffindor Tower, except for me.”

“Your parents have so many children that they probably won’t even notice that you’re gone,” he accuses meanly. She is not insulted or hurt by this jab; she has heard it too many times before. Where it used to hurt, now it brings comfort instead. She wonders if it means that he’s healing and becoming what he used to be.

“You’re right, and this is one time that it works to my advantage.” She stares at him for a moment before turning and heading towards his door. When she reaches it, she turns and finds him still staring at her. “Happy Christmas.” He nods curtly, and she leaves without another word.

He stands there until her footsteps can’t be heard on the stairwell anymore, and then he lets his shoulders slump and exhales in relief. Originally he had wondered where she was getting the sleeping draught from, but after seeing her tonight, he realizes that she must have given him her own store. What he can’t figure out is why.

Why should she sacrifice her own sleep, and therefore her own health, to allow him peace? He doesn’t deserve peace; he has murdered his own father, his own flesh and blood. In the end, Dumbledore tells him that he did the right thing under the circumstances, but he’s not so sure.

He knows that his father was not himself that night, and that he had been about to offer Draco to the Dark Lord in sacrifice. The Dark Lord needed pure blood freely given in order to seal his victory, and Lucius had offered his only son. Draco knew that he would never forgive his father for that, no matter how much he’d loved him.

He knew that she’d been there, in that field. Even before he had argued with his father, he’d smelled her perfume and had recognized it. It had haunted him since that day in Umbridge’s office when she’d hexed him. He’d thought it stupid at the time, but he’d developed an interest in her after that. Her seemingly ruthless manner and talent with the hex made him want to know more about her.

So he’d begun following her at every opportunity, noticing things that bothered him. No one ever spoke to her when the Golden Trio wasn’t nearby, unless they wanted something. Even though he never saw so much as an adoring look cast in his direction from her, Draco knew that everyone was wrong when they said that she was head over heels for Potter. She had been at one time, perhaps, but that time had obviously passed.

He spent so much time following her that the scent of her perfume was unmistakable, and alerted him to her presence, no matter where he was when he smelled it. It was no different the night he murdered his father, though he was ashamed that night to smell it. He couldn’t understand why, but the thought of her chocolate eyes seeing him Avada Kedavra his father made him cringe.

He turns around and goes to his bed, where he sinks down in grateful release. Without thinking, he reaches for the book she’s snuck him, and he smiles. He doesn’t know why she’s given him the book, and he wonders if she knows that she’s given him a love story to read.

He starts to open the book to the page he left off at last night, but his hand pauses in midair as he realizes that he'd left a book lying around before when she’d been to his room. Had she noticed that, and thought he needed a new one to read, or does she know of his secret love for books of any kind? In either case, he knows that she is more observant than anyone believes her to be, and he wonders exactly what Ginny Weasley sees in him that keeps her coming back when everyone else has deserted him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Ginny wanders around the streets of Hogsmeade alone on Saturday morning as she shops for Christmas gifts. She tries to save money for the sleeping draught that she knows she so desperately needs, but she can’t bring herself to skimp on gifts in order to do it. She enjoys the faces that her loved ones make when they open her gifts, and she isn’t willing to sacrifice that – not even for her own health’s sake.

When she passes by Quality Quidditch Supplies, she pauses. She moves close and peers in the window, eyeing all of the latest gear. Something catches her eye, and she goes inside the store to have a better look at it. It has been several months since she was last inside this store, and it feels strangely like coming home when she smells the broomstick polish.

She squats down so she is at eye level with the shelf she’s looking at, and she watches a tiny Quidditch player on his broom. It is only a model; a child’s toy, but it is still fascinating to watch. The little man hops on and off of his broom, and manages to fly several feet in the air before he has to land again.

For some reason, the toy makes her think of Draco, and she is strongly tempted to buy it for him. She frowns at herself for this thought; he has made it very clear to her that he holds no interest in her whatsoever, and that he neither wants nor needs friends. This makes her frown deepen even more. Her frown quickly turns to a smile when she picks the toy up and the little man angrily voices his protests. She can’t wait to see what he’ll do when he’s dropped into the gift box and shopping bag.

It is Monday evening, and Christmas Eve, before she sneaks up the stairs to his tower. She bites her bottom lip to keep her giddy laughter from bubbling up and out; she has come to think of him as one in a fairy tale – enchanted so he can never leave the tower. She stops in front of his door and gingerly places the brightly wrapped present in front of his door. She turns and heads quickly towards the stair, but before she can reach it, his door swings open. With her back still turned to him, she freezes mid-step and prays that the place where she is standing is too shadowy for him to see her.

“Weasley,” he murmurs. She turns back around to face him, trying not to look too guilty. He bends over and picks up the package, turning it over in surprise. She holds a hand out.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” she says, shaking her head. He frowns at her and looks down at the box.

“Why not?”

“He’ll be livid when you open the box,” she explains. Draco’s eyebrows shoot up as he looks at her.

“He, did you say?”

She nods, and then says, “Happy Christmas, Malfoy.” She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

“Why did you buy me a gift?”

“I thought of you when I saw it,” she says reasonably. “And I thought you might like it.”

“But I don’t have anything for you,” he says, as though she isn’t making any sense. She folds her arms over her chest, struggling to look annoyed, even though she is really only cold, standing in the drafty tower.

“So? Sometimes people just give other people gifts because they like to do it.” He tilts his head to one side and studies her for a moment. Then he surprises her, and steps away from his door, motioning her inside. She scurries past him before he can change his mind, and heads straight towards the fire that is blazing in the small fireplace. She holds her hands out and is content when the warmth seeps into her pores.

He sits down on the edge of his bed and stares down at the brightly wrapped box in his lap. When she doesn’t hear paper being torn, she turns to face him. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“It isn’t Christmas yet,” he points out softly. She wonders if he is hesitant about opening it because he fears it will be his only gift, or if he will be insulted by what she’s gotten him.

“Didn’t you ever get to open one gift on Christmas Eve?” she asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees. He looks up at her and shakes his head mutely. “Well, you don’t have to open it tonight. But you can, if you want,” she adds quickly.

He doesn’t say anything as he gently tugs at the red ribbon on top of the box, and she waits with breathless anticipation as he slowly unwraps his gift. As soon as he lifts the lid, she can hear the little man shouting and cursing, and before she has time to savor the shocked look on Malfoy’s face, the man and his broom rise into the air and fly up to the mantle.

She struggles to contain her laughter as Malfoy watches the little man, dumbstruck. After a moment, it is too much to handle, and she bursts into fits of giggling. Malfoy stares at her, and then he does something that surprises her.

He laughs.

It is not a shallow, forced laugh, like she is so used to hearing from everyone these days; it is a genuine laugh, and she decides right away that she likes it very much. They laugh until they can barely breathe, and then they laugh some more. The little man shakes his fist at them, and they burst into renewed laughter. It has been a while since she’s laughed like this – long and hard and to the point of tears. It feels good, and she never wants it to end.

When Malfoy finally catches his breath, he turns sparkling eyes to her. For a moment, her heart speeds up, and she realizes that she has never seen him this happy in all of the years that she’s known him.

“You thought of me when you saw that?”

She shrugs helplessly and smiles broadly at him. “Don’t expect me to explain the inner workings of my mind. They are an enigma.”

“Truly,” he agrees, nodding. He shoots a grin at her, and then turns his eyes back to the tiny figure winding lazy circles in the air. He is quiet for so long that she begins to think that it’s time to leave, and she starts to clamber to her feet. He turns back to her and his smile fades. “Leaving?”

“I thought you might want me to,” she admits, brushing her jeans off.

“Right.” He doesn’t say anything, but Ginny can feel the weight of his silence, and is startled by it. He doesn’t want her to leave, but he doesn’t want to say the words to make her stay, either.

“Hungry?”

“You haven’t eaten?” he asks, sounding mildly surprised. She shakes her head.

“Have you?”

“No. I expect the house elves are particularly busy tonight, preparing for tomorrow’s dinner.” She frowns at this.

“Come on.” She motions for him to follow her as she heads toward his door, and he rises from the bed, although he doesn’t move any further than that.

“What? Where?” She stops at his door and puts her hands on her hips.

“It’s a surprise – another gift from me to you.” At this, he takes a tentative step forward.

“A gift? Why can’t you just bring it to me here?”

“Frankly, I’m a little tired of climbing your stairs,” she says, turning and heading out of the room. He is left with little choice but to follow her, which he does, albeit with a definite air of apprehension. When she gets to the bottom of the stairwell, he stops.

“I can’t go through the hallways,” he says vehemently. “I might be seen and recognized.”

“You came to the library for our first tutoring session,” she points out, wagging her finger at him. “Quit being such a chicken, and come out here, already.” She gestures up and down the empty corridor. “No one is out here.”

He narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. “Are you trying to trick me? Is this another one of Potter’s grand schemes to get back at-“

“Harry is gone, Malfoy,” Ginny snaps impatiently. “He went to my house with my brother, remember? I told you that, remember?” He thinks about this for a moment, and gradually the suspicion fades from his expression.

“Right. What about the other students, then? Where are all of they, that you’re not worried about them seeing me?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, starting down the hallway. At first he walks behind her, but after turning down another hallway, he catches up to her and walks by her side. “If anyone other than the teachers see you, they’ll just think you’re a ghost anyway.”

He gives her a sideways look. “What makes you so sure?”

“No one in their right mind would believe that if you were alive that you’d walk next to me. You’d have to be a ghost and haunting me – otherwise they’d never believe it was you.”

He nods and seems to accept this, and they walk in silence for a while. He startles her when he speaks again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks, stopping and turning to face him. He meets her eyes with his own.

“For everything I’ve ever done to you.”

“Oh, that,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. She begins walking again. “No, you’re not, and you don’t need to lie to me just to make me feel better. I’m not sorry for it.”

“You’re not sorry that I teased you all this time?”

“You wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t,” she says.

“And you’re not sorry for hexing me?” At this, her lips curve into a satisfied smile, and he is struck with the thought that she looks very feline when she does this.

“Of course not,” she says, glancing at him. “I wouldn’t be me if I was sorry for that. That was a beautiful hex, wasn’t it?”

“Didn’t feel beautiful,” he mutters under his breath. She giggles and rolls her eyes.

“You’re too close to the situation to appreciate it.”

“Damn right,” he agrees.

“Everyone else seemed to enjoy it,” she says, tickling the pear. He watches with interest as she takes him down to the kitchens, and is amazed when they are greeted with enthusiasm by the house elves.

“How did you learn how to get here like that?” he asks, amazed. She shrugs.

“It helps to have the two biggest troublemakers in the history of Hogwarts as brothers,” she explains, sitting down at a small table the house elves have produced for them. He sits down as well, and watches the tiny creatures scurrying about, preparing trays and trays of food for them.

“Do you come down here often? They seem to know what you like,” he observes, as a house elf puts a plate full of goodies in front of her. Her cheeks turn slightly pink, and she smiles.

“I come down here a fair bit.” Both ends of the conversation are halted as they eat, and Ginny feels more relaxed than she has in weeks. She wonders if Malfoy is comfortable around her, and decides that he must be, otherwise he wouldn’t eat the way he’s eating – as though he were a man starved.

She watches in amazement and does her best not to stare as he wolfs down two full plates of food, and then half of a chocolate cake by himself. She is used to seeing boys eat a lot, since her brothers have always had voracious appetites, but she finds that seeing someone so dignified eat this way is unsettling.

She finds that she picks at her own food, only eating the meat and bread that the elves have brought her. The bread is her favorite and has always been; ever since she was a small girl, bread has been her favorite thing to eat. She especially loves it when it’s warm just out of the oven and almost melts in her mouth. Her mother still chides her to this day when she fills up on bread, but Ginny can’t help it. It’s a habit she can’t – and doesn’t want to- break.

She is unaware that he has stopped eating and that his attention is focused on her. He watches as she breaks the roll she has in half, and he wonders at the dreamy smile that flickers across her face as she watches the steam rise. He thinks that he is learning about Little Ginny Weasley, whether she wants him to or not.

He sits back in his chair, his hunger fully sated for the first time in many months. He has always been too preoccupied to eat – always convincing himself that his body can run more efficiently on less fuel. He tells himself this so that in case he’s ever alone again and forced to go hungry that it won’t drive him insane with want.

Unwillingly he lets his mind drift back to that week after he’d killed his father; the week he’d spent alone out in the cold, sleeping beneath trees and enduring hunger pains so bad that they made him pass out. He hadn’t thought that anyone would believe what had happened, and so he’d stayed hidden. He’d hidden until the hunger was too much to bear, and he’d barely made it into Dumbledore’s office before he passed out again.

When he’d come to, he was in the tower he now calls his room. Dumbledore was there, and he explained to Draco that he would allow him to stay on at Hogwarts as long as he needed to. The words began pouring out of his mouth unbidden then, so overwhelmed with the need to confess that he was. Dumbledore had listened patiently, and repeated over and over that Draco was not guilty of any crimes.

In the end, Draco had agreed to stay, as long as Dumbledore didn’t make him circulate among the students. Dumbledore had frowned on this, and had insisted that Draco needed to attend classes in order to facilitate learning. Draco was given an invisibility cloak, and began attending classes in that capacity.

The house elves always brought his meals to him, for which he was grateful. At the Manor, he’d barely been aware of their presence; at Hogwarts, he was indebted to them.

He is snapped back to the present when she clears her throat, and he struggles not to smile at her. She has been eating strawberries while he’s been lost in thought, and she has whipped cream on the side of her mouth. He gestures to the side of his own mouth to let her know, but she just stares at him. When he realizes that she doesn’t understand his gesturing, he reaches out and swipes the confection away with the tip of his finger. At her startled look, he holds the offending finger up to show her. She relaxes visibly, and he gives in and grins at her. A slow smile spreads across her face, and she giggles.

“Sorry. I’ve always been a messy eater.”

“With a sweet tooth to rival mine,” he adds. Her smile widens.

“Are you finished eating?” she asks eagerly. He nods, and she stands up and holds her hand out to him. He looks at it apprehensively, and she rolls her eyes impatiently at him. “I’ve got another gift for you.” His apprehension dissipates immediately, and he slips his hand into hers. He tries to ignore the tingling that her warmth creates in his palm, and follows her out of the kitchens, and out of the great oak doors of Hogwarts.

She leads him around the grounds until he realizes where they’re going – the Quidditch Pitch. Then he realizes that even though it’s snowing and they have no coats to speak of, he is not cold. She does not seem to be, either. Clever girl, he thinks. She’s obviously planned this whole evening.

She leads him beneath the stands, where she lets go of his hand and digs beneath a blanket that’s lying on the ground. When she turns to face him, she’s holding out a broom. He stares at it as if it’s a dangerous creature that might swallow him whole.

“Take it,” she commands. He obeys, and the moment he grasps the handle, he feels as though he’s come home. He watches as she mounts her broom, and he does the same with his automatically. She kicks off, and she flies away. Never one to be outflown, Draco pushes off the ground hard with his feet, and moments later he is soaring high in the air.

He never thought he’d feel this free again, and he owes it all to her.