Don't Call Me Weasel! By Jedi Tess of Gryffindor

Summary: Wow, I've suddenly begun submitting stuff! What a novelty (for me, at least). Anywho, here's a Ginny/Draco fic for ya. Basically, Ginny gets ill and coincidentally (or otherwise) gets Draco sick as well.

Disclaimer: Why bother? We all know who the HP characters/books don't belong to *heavy sigh*. And I can't think of any characters in here that are mine, either. Only the plot.

A/N: I'm an extremely busy person, but hopefully I'll be able to keep up weekly updates for ya. And while I enjoy encouragement in the form or reviews and such, I won't stop write just because I don't get as many reviews as I want. As I've said many times, I WRITE FOR ME! ESCRIBO PARA MI!!!!! So anywho, I see reviewing as a courtesy, not an ultimatum, as it were.

Enough babble . . . enjoy!


"AH-choo!" Ginny Weasely sneezed violently.

"Gin, don't you think you ought to go to Madam Pomphrey or something?" Harry Potter asked in concern. He, Ron Weasely, and Hermoine Granger were walking toward the Great Hall with her for lunch. She had been coughing and sneezing almost non-stop since breakfast.

Ginny blushed, mentally kicking herself. She was over him! Over, over, over! She had promised herself that her sixth year would be gigantic-crush- on-The-Boy-Who-Lived free.

"Nope, I'm fine," she assured him, smiling in what she knew must have been a bleary way. In fact, she wasn't feeling well at all. "Allergies, I guess."

"But you don't have any," Ron said suspiciously. Hermoine, whose hand was clasped in Ron's, looked thoughtful.

"How long ago was that Muggle Studies field trip, Gin?" she asked slowly, looking at the young redhead speculatively. Ginny sighed.

"Two weeks ago - " she broke off, coughing violently. The Dream Team had stopped and watched Ginny with concern. She looked back. Her eyelids felt heavy and she was suddenly sleepy.

"What?" she demanded thickly. Harry had raised his hand and pressed it to her forehead and Ginny knew she was blushing again.

"Think you've got a bit of a fever, Gin," he said sympathetically, with an adorably anxious expression. "You've probably got a cold. Bet you got it from a Muggle when you were in London. You really should see Madam Pomphrey. I'll walk you up there."

"No, no, I'm alright," she said quickly, but firmly. While she had promised herself she would get over Harry if it killed her, she had no qualms about avoiding him like the plague to help the getting-over process along a bit. His handsome face was almost irresistibly kissable. The bright green eyes were soft and friendly and troubled.

This was yet another hindrance. Harry was a remarkable, wonderful guy. He was so good and kind and generous and brave that Ginny really couldn't be mad at him for treating her in an affectionate, but elder brotherly way. He was a good person and she couldn't really blame him for not liking her the way she desperately wanted him to.

"Go on, Gin," Ron insisted. "Let Harry take you up. You look awful."

"Thanks," she retorted, giving him a scathing look. Leave it to him to make her feel even plainer and uglier than usual. And Harry was there to witness it all. This happened all too frequently. She knew Ron hadn't meant it that way, but still felt resentful for his thoughtless remark.

"Actually, I think I'll go back to my dorm," she said, suddenly needing an escape from their pity, which had reached sickening proportions. "I can have a bit of a lie down and maybe finish my blasted Divination assignment." She gave them a shaky smile, realizing how unwell she really felt.

Ron started to object, but Hermoine said quickly, "Alright, Gin. Get some sleep. If you need anything, let us know, okay?"

"Right, thanks," she said, smiling and turning away. She sighed. Hermoine was so great, she thought with a smile. Ginny had been thrilled when she had discovered that Ron and Hermoine liked each other and still more delighted when Hermoine got tired of waiting from Ron grow up and kissed him - in front of all of Gryffindor House at dinner! Ginny and Harry had had a good laugh planning their wedding.

Ginny sighed, and then abruptly became conscious that her breathing was more labored than a couple of staircases should have made it. Starting to feel truly worried, she hurried up to Gryffindor Tower. She was just turning a sharp corner that led to the hall of the Fat Lady portrait where Gryffindor House was hidden, when she crashed into someone walking in the opposite direction. She hit the stone floor hard and immediately, her head began to pound.

"Oh, well done, Weasel," a drawling voice said. "You know, there are charity organizations that help people like you. You know, Weasely; people who can't even afford to pay attention to where they're bloody going."

She didn't need this; she really didn't. Her temples were throbbing and her throat was aching. She just wanted to go to bed. And now, she had to deal with -

"Malfoy!" she hissed, trying to shake the sudden double vision from her eyes. Two Draco Malfoys were circling each other in the air before her. Why couldn't they settle down? "Fancy meeting you here. Where're your goons? You know, Malfoy? Those gits who kiss your ass so they can make sure to get those fashionable tattoos on their arms in a few years."

Ginny was surprised at her own daring. If she hadn't been feeling sick as a dog, she wouldn't have had the courage. Or maybe she would have. Malfoy generally didn't speak to her, but whenever he did it was the same 'oh, let me remind you of how poor you are, in case you hadn't noticed' routine, and she was sick of it. Literally.

"Oh, feisty little Weasel," he mocked, and she saw the two Malfoys resolve themselves into one as he stepped closer. She knew she should be frightened - Malfoy didn't have a bad-boy reputation for any chivalrous attributes of character (i.e. he wasn't coming toward her to help her to her feet). But she found herself climbing up on her own and boldly holding her ground; even when he pressed his entire body against hers, slipping a well-muscled arm around her waist to hold her against him. He brought mouth down to her ear.

"Just remember this, girl," he whispered, his thin lips brushing her ear. "Don't mess with me. I'm way out of your league. People who go up against me go down - in the worst way. Don't do it."

Ginny was quite sure she could have come up with a derisive retort, if not for the fact that she was half-frozen from his proximity to her - which she was horrified to discover she was enjoying . . . in the worst way - and the fact that she was suddenly very dizzy.

Ginny fainted.

Draco grinned nastily, as the girl slumped against him.

"Why, Weasely, if I'd known you felt that way . . . " he frowned slightly when he noticed her head lolling against his arm. He scowled. "Weasel? Weasely! Oh, this is just fucking great!"

She had fainted, damn her. Her red hair was tickling his chin and his scowl deepened when he observed it smelled pleasantly of vanilla and mint. Oh, this wasn't fair! He would just leave her there for someone else to find and get the hell out of there. Otherwise, her git of a brother and Potty would show up, think he'd done something to her, and end his life.

Despite what most people thought about him, Draco harbored no illusions about the extent of his abilities. He knew his strengths and he knew his weaknesses. While he had a well-toned body and was an excellent dueler, he knew better than to assume he could take Weasely and Potter on his own. Potter was no longer a scrawny kid. He'd grown up as much as Draco had over the last couple of years. Weasely had, if possible, grown taller, but he'd filled out quite a lot as well. No, Draco wasn't about to fight them.

But he also become conscious of the fact that he still held the little redheaded vixen tight against him. He snorted. He should just leave her.

He didn't move.

Silently cursing himself, he scooped the petite girl into his arms and headed off toward the Hospital Wing.

Thankfully he didn't see Potter, Weasely, or even Granger (who seemed to be everywhere of late, especially since getting her bloody Head Girl badge. It was really quite annoying) and got to Hospital Wing unquestioned and relatively unseen.

He plastered an earnest expression to his face and called politely, "Madam Pomphrey?"

The nurse came bustling in, took one look at Ginny, and said curtly as she led him to a hospital bed, "What happened?"

"I don't know, Ma'am," he said, smiling flakily at her. She always fell victim to his charms. It was how he'd managed to use his arm as an excuse to get the Dream Team in so much trouble their third year. "I found her in the corridor - " he paused, thinking quickly, then, " - just off the Entrance Hall. She looks really sick," he added for good measure, adopting a look of concern.

"Thank you for bringing her in," the old bat said, smiling graciously at Draco. "Ten points to Slytherin."

Draco smirked behind her back. Virginia's brother would blow a gasket if he found out. He threw a last glance at Ginny, who was looking quick pale, kicked himself for feeling a moment of worry, then turned and strode from the Hospital Wing.

He remembered his warning to her before she fainted and grinned fierily. Oh, yes, Virginia Weasely would get hers. She had mouthed off to the wrong guy.

Hours later, he lay in his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dungeons, unable to sleep. He had been plotting revenge since leaving the Hospital Wing and now had a fairly good idea what he wanted to do. The ultimate embarrassment at Hogwarts. The rare Invisible Concoction. Rather than turn the drinker invisible, it turned their clothing such.

She should be back at school by tomorrow. He would just sneak up to the Hospital Wing and pore some of the draught into her water glass while she was asleep. Juvenile, perhaps, but also funny as hell.

He grinned, but it was a reluctant expression. He couldn't ignore his nagging (though miniscule) conscience. Not that he'd get caught. He'd done this sort of dirty work many times. His concerns, to his horror, were for the young lady herself.

He shook the thought away. Falling for a Weasely. A Weasely he barely knew, to cap it all. It was absurd, at best. He'd prove to himself he didn't fancy her if it killed him. He didn't fancy anyone. He was Draco Malfoy, for god's sake! Malfoys didn't love. Or like, even. It was an unwritten rule. They trod upon everyone else and served Dark Lords. That was it.

He climbed out of bed, pulling on a black cotton zip-up sweater he'd bought at a Muggle store called The Gap during that blasted Muggle Studies class he'd been forced to take his sixth year. The damned thing was Muggle, but that didn't stop it from being incredibly comfortable.

Reaching into the drawer of his nightstand, he pulled out the draught he'd procured from Snape's private storeroom and dropped it into the pocket of his black silk pajama pants. It had probably been confiscated from one of the Weasely twins. He had to hand it to them, at least. They may have been Weaselys, but they had had remarkably good taste in prank material.

Ignoring the fact that he was bare-chested, except the partially zipped sweater, he slipped about of the dungeons and up to the Hospital Wing. He moved silently in his bare feet, keeping an ear opened for Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Peeves. He made it to the Hospital Wing unnoticed, however, and slipped inside.

To his mild surprise, Ginny was the only patient. She lay asleep, her breathing coming in audible wheezes, even from where Draco stood. She must have really gotten something unpleasant and he wondered idly what it might be. Before he could stop himself, he thought, Hope she isn't hurting too much. He growled to himself in frustration. He wanted her to suffer, sod it all!

He crossed quietly to her bedside and glanced at her nightstand. There were several goblets there and he wondered which one contained water. A look into each goblet made this fairly obvious. One contained a vile smelling potion that looked dark and lumpy. The one beside it was lime green and thick looking. The third was definitely water. It smelled of nothing and was clear.

Grinning maliciously and trying his damnest not to hesitate, Draco pulled the vile from his pocket. He held it over the goblet -

"What the bloody hell are you doing hear?"

"Bugger!" he swore as he dropped the vile, missing the glass and shattering the tiny bottle on her nightstand. Whirling around, he could see Ginny, illuminated in a shaft of moonlight, blinking her eyes groggily. Her voice had been hoarse and he noticed that she was pale, with dark smudges under her eyes.

"Damn it, Weasely!" he snapped softly, glaring viciously at her. "Look what you made me do!"

"I didn't make you do bloody anything!" she retorted, pausing to sneeze violently. "I asked what you though you were doing here, you clumsy git!"

"Look who's talking," he retorted. "Who ran into who earlier? Let's review. You. Who fainted and fell into whose arms? You into mine."

"Alright, alright," she muttered, reaching for her water glass. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here."

"Why should I tell you?" he drawled, automatically reaching over and handing her the correct goblet. He then beat his brain with an imaginary bit of metal. Stop being nice!

"Because I can think of plenty of things I could do right now to get you into loads of trouble," she smirked, though the effect of the expression was somewhat lost due to her sniffling. "Like scream bloody murder and lose Slytherin lots of points for you being out of bed after curfew." She grinned evilly. "Especially if McGonagall is the first Professor on the scene."

He glared at her. Who the hell did she think she was? Did she have any idea who she was dealing with?

"Don't push your luck, Weasely," he growled viciously in a tone that would have made Pansy Parkinson back off. He took a step closer. She was propped against pillows and resting against the headboard of the hospital bed. He leaned so close to her their noses were brushing and leered in satisfaction when he saw the flash of alarm in her eyes.

"You've been fortunate so far that I haven't been able to teach you a lesson. And don't expect me to be sidetracked by the fact you 're in stuck in a hospital bed. I'll make you sorry you ever messed with me."

Now, finally, she began to look properly nervous. He knew this was as much due to his closeness to her as to his threat and he gave her a feral grin. Her next response was made in a trembling voice.

"You - you know, Draco, you might not - not . . . look, I'm sick and its contagious," she stammered. "You might not want to be so close to me. Maybe - if that's alright with you."

His grin widened, partly from her excuse, but mostly because he liked the way his name sounded coming from her lips. He didn't even berate himself for the thought.

"Do I frighten you, Weasely?" he whispered, leaning over to trail his lips across her cheek. "Do big boys like me scare you?"

"N-no, of course not," she gasped as he moved to her jaw line. "I ju - ju - just don't - " she moaned slightly as his lips found her ear. "Wha- what do you think you're doing?"

"Do you like it, Weasely?" he purred, his lips running down her neck. She hissed in pleasure and let her head fall back onto the pillows behind her. Then, suddenly, she seemed to realize what he was doing and stiffened. Then, bracing her small hands against his chest, she gave him a good shove. As she was sick, it wasn't really very powerful, but he wasn't expecting it and stumbled backwards. His back hit a rolling food tray and sent it crashing into the next bed over. It made a horrific racket.

Ginny gasped, hands clamping over her mouth - however, it wasn't hard to make out her stifled giggles.

He knew he had to leave. But his sojourn hadn't been completely wasted.

He now knew how to exact revenge on Ginny Weasely.

Ginny watched quietly as Malfoy dashed - with a catlike grace, she added unconsciously - through the Hospital Wing's double doors. A moment later, Madam Pomphrey came hurrying out of her office.

"For Merlin's sake, what was all that?" she demanded, moving to Ginny's bedside.

"Er, I tried to get up to - " she coughed hard - "to go to the bathroom and get some water. You couldn't hear me calling you while your office door was shut, I guess. And I couldn't see, and - and I knocked into that cart thing in the dark."

Madam Pomphrey gave her a suspicious look, but didn't press the issue. She merely helped a fever-weakened Ginny to the bathroom. After relieving herself and getting some water, Ginny was helped back into bed with the covers tucked comfortably around her.

"Drink up," Madam Pomphrey ordered, pushing the cup of grayish goo from Ginny's nightstand into her hands. "It will put you right to sleep. There's nothing you can do to speed up your recovery except rest." And the nurse gave her a very stern glare.

Plugging her nose with her fingers, Ginny gulped down a mouthful of the glue-like gip and almost gagged. However, her nose suddenly began to run and she grabbed for a tissue.

Madam Pomphrey left Ginny there, blowing her nose and sneezing, with strict instructions to go straight to sleep, which the young invalid was only to grateful to oblige.

The next morning, the first person to notice the feisty redhead missing at breakfast was none other than her nighttime stocker. Draco's sharp eyes were glued to the Gryffindor table all through breakfast. Where the hell was the little vixen?

He didn't want to believe she was still in the hospital wing (she couldn't have been that sick . . . right?). In fact, he was so preoccupied with trying to think of where she could be that he didn't even notice how drowsy he felt, until Snape told him to stay behind in Potions that afternoon.

"Mr. Malfoy, is everything alright?" Snape demanded. Draco had always been a favorite with the greasy professor and they had a friendship, of sorts. Severus Snape was Draco's confidant, or as close to one as he had ever had in his life, and both benefited from their long (though occasional) discussions. Draco was able to vent quite a lot of his pent up anger at his father and his life in general, and his venting gave the double agent much- needed information about Lucious's activities concerning Voldemort.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Draco muttered, running a hand across his forehead and feeling cold sweat there.

"You don't look it," his mentor said bluntly. "You're flushed and you're shaking. I don't want my best student ill during midterms. Drop by and have Pomphrey take a look at you before your next lesson. I'll excuse your absences."

Draco didn't bother arguing; partially because he knew it was a lost cause - Snape would stun him and carry him if he didn't agree to go himself - but mostly because he felt like a bloody sandbag in a rainstorm.

He arrived in the Hospital Wing shortly before his vision began to blur. Madam Pomphrey rolled her eyes at him and led him silently to a bed. She felt his forehead as he settled into the comfortable mattress.

"Pneumonia, like Miss Weasely. Muggle virus. You're burning up with fever," she scolded, as though it were his fault. "Probably caught it when you brought her in yesterday. Poor dear. You'll both be in here for at least another week. I have to quarantine you both until you get well or half the castle will be holed up in here." And she bustled off. He heard her office door close, then a new voice.

"I told you I was contagious, you stupid prat," the voice was almost gleeful, even if it was nasally.

"Shut your sodding pie hole, Weasel," was the best retort he could come up with before succumbing to merciful unconsciousness.

He had a strange dream.

He was standing by the lake, under a monstrous weeping willow. The sun was just setting behind the horizon. Ginny Weasely stood beside him in a white dress, her red hair flowing around her. A veil obscured her face. He turned to face her, taking her delicate hands in his slender ones.

"I love you, Virginia," he sighed. Sweat beaded his brow, but he ignored it. He reached out to draw the veil away from her face. But it wasn't Ginny. It was -

He was suddenly jolted out of his dream. He didn't open his eyes. The sweat was still there.

No, it wasn't sweat. It was water. He could feel someone pressing a wonderfully cold cloth to his burning cheek. He shivered, despite the thick white duvet covering him. Although his face burned as though it were on fire, his body felt frozen.

"What are you doing?" he whispered hoarsely, though he didn't want the gentle hands to leave his scorching face. They couldn't have been Pomphrey's fingers. Hers were plump and smooth.

"It's what my mum did for Harry once when he came to our house with a cold," Ginny's voice greeted him. If he hadn't been very ill, he would have been desperately embarrassed to be seen like this. But in his current state, he couldn't think of anyone else he wanted to have care for him. Later, he would remember thinking that and become quite angry with himself. For the moment, the thought passed unnoticed.

"It feels good," he murmured, his throat very dry. "Don't stop."

She didn't. They sat (and lay) in silence, except the drip of the washcloth and the occasional cough or sneeze from one of them.

Finally, Draco remembered that she was an invalid, too.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked, opening his eyes at last. His vision was no longer hazy and he could see her through the dark wing. She was wrapped in her own duvet and sitting in a chair beside his bed. Her hair was mussed from sleep and she had the same dark smudges under her eyes as she had the day before.

"I couldn't fall asleep," she confessed, pressing the washcloth to his forehead. "And besides, it's my fault your sick."

He grinned blearily.

"Not really," he conceded (another thing he'd be sorry for later). "I'm the one who got in your face. I shoulda listened when you told me to back off." He managed a leer, in spite of a sneeze. "Not that you were telling me off for my own health."

Through her fever flush, he was sure he saw her redden.

"You were coming on to me," she snapped, though without much venom. "Of course I wanted you to go away." He felt a jolt of disappointment.

"Don't you like me, Virginia?" he demanded, staring up into her eyes with a sincerely hurt expression.

"You've never given me a reason to," she retorted, dipping the washcloth into the basin and squeezing it out.

"What if I did?" he persisted.

"You don't know what you're saying," she whispered, draping the washcloth across his eyes and forcing him to shut them. "You'll take it all back once your fever breaks."

He heard the scrape of a chair against the floor as she got to her feet. Impulsively he reached out his hand, thinking almost dreamily, I must be delirious.

"Stay with me," he begged, feeling his hand connect with hers and grabbing hold firmly. "Until I fall asleep." He heard a quick intake of breath, then a pause.

"Alright," she said, and he heard her return to her chair. He still gripped her hand. "But I think you'll regret all this in the morning."

"Probably, but I don't care," he smiled weakly. "Yay for delirium. Who needs sanity, anyway?"

She laughed, then coughed hard for a moment. Finally, he felt her hand pull the cloth from his eyelids and heard her dip it into the water basin.

"Just use your hands," he mumbled. He could feel her pause, then the gentle touch of her fingers stroking his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids.

"Thank you, Weasel," he muttered. The last thing he heard before dropping back to sleep was a grumbling,

"Don't call me Weasel."


Hope you all enjoyed that. I love writing this sort of stuff! I'll try, like I said, to keep up a weekly update. I won't keep you waiting too long, I promise. Feel free to get pissed at me if I do!