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The Thin Line	By : Gemma Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 2886 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Harry Potter series, or any of the characters associated with it. This story is purely for entertainment, and no money is being made from it.

Chapter List
- 1-Awakening
- 2-Realizations
- 1
- 2
Draco woke up in the infirmary. Dumbledore was seated next to him.
Fuck. Fuck. A Weasley? Of all people, how could it have been her? Ginny Weasley. He racked his brain, trying to remember everything he knew about her. Sixth year, decent Quidditch player, constantly fawning over Harry Potter, and just as spotty and obnoxious as her brothers. If he had thought his situation was bad before, this was beyond humiliating.
At least she was a girl. There was that. He had- although he would never admit it- worried that maybe this veela thing would cause other changes too. The only worse scenario he could imagine was if he’d been this inexplicably drawn to a man. Completely against his will, an image of her brother Ron floated through his head, and Draco fought back the urge to gag.
“Is she okay?” He finally asked, not daring to look Dumbledore in the eye.
“Physically, Ms. Weasley is well. Although she is more than a little angry from my understanding.”
“Where is she?’
“In her room, I would imagine,” Dumbledore told him, watching his reaction closely.
“Am I expelled?”
“Should you be?”
Draco grimaced. “I would have-” he faltered over the wording. “Hurt her,” he finished lamely.
“I take the safety of my students very seriously, Mr. Malfoy. I cannot, in good conscious, allow any harm to come to them. And that includes you, Draco. I believe Hogwarts is the safest place for you. Now more than ever.”
“I would have hurt her,” Draco repeated.
“And yet you made a choice not to.” Dumbledore said kindly. “I understand it was you who told her to curse you.”
“I told her to stun me,” Draco said, annoyed as he remembered. “The stinging jinx and whatever that thing she did to my hands was all her.”
Dumbledore smiled. “Well, there was no permanent harm done. To you or Miss Weasley.”
“I’m not sure I could stop myself again,” Draco admitted.
“Ah. But I think I may be able to help with that part.”
He handed Draco a small glass filled with a vile-looking green potion. The glass was cold, but the potion inside bubbled of its own accord.
“It’s a willpower potion. It should help you fight off the worst of your urges. I warn you though, this will strengthen your resolve, but it cannot make the choices for you. That you must do on your own. I also must insist that you not try to contact Ginny Weasley. I think that would be unwise for both of you, at the moment.”
Draco regarded the cup in his hand. “Willpower?”
“Yes. Professor Slughorn assures me it should work. I will have to make the staff aware of your… peculiar circumstances. I can assure you of their utmost discretion, but it is necessary for the safety of the other students.”
Dumbledore didn’t expand on what he meant by the safety of the other students. They both knew.
“Well, then,” Draco said, “Cheers to me,” and drained the glass.

Draco woke the next day feeling better than he had in weeks. Better than he had in more than a year, actually. A glance beside him confirmed a vial of the willpower potion had been added to his daily regimen. He put the potion for dreamless sleep aside- he had yet to use that one- but drank the other three.
It was Saturday and a Hogmeade weekend, so the grounds were quiet. He was happy to find Blaise reading in the common room.
“Seekers’ game?” Draco proposed by way of greeting. Blaise didn’t look up from his page.
“Oi- Look at me,” Draco commanded, tossing a couch cushion at his friend.
“Oh, me? The great Draco Malfoy finally deigns to speak to me? I’m touched,” Blaise said dryly, still pretending to read.
Draco knew he’d ignored his friend the last few weeks, but he couldn’t explain it, and so he didn’t try.
“Oh shut up. Let’s go fly.”
“Fine,” Blaise said, “But expect to have your arse handed to you.”
They flew for more than an hour. Despite Blaise’s threat, Draco was hands down the better flyer. Because he was feeling guilty, he let Blaise catch the snitch twice and the game ended five to three. They returned to the common room and got washed off for lunch. Draco listened to Blaise complain about their potions assignment, content to be able to focus on something uncomplicated.
That changed the minute Ginny walked into the Great Hall. Draco didn’t have to look up to know when she entered, he could sense her, as though room’s center of gravity had changed unexpectedly. He kept his eyes fixed on his food. He would not look at her. His chest pounded with a sudden and powerful longing and, embarrassingly, he could feel his cock swell. And even though every nerve in his body was commanding him to bend her over the table and make her his, here and now, where everyone could see, he managed to stay in his seat.
He let his eyes dart up just once to look at her and was relieved when she didn’t catch him. She was surrounded by a gaggle of other six year girls that Draco couldn’t remember seeing her with before. Was she trying to hide from him? The thought made him irrationally angry. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and he decided he’d tested his self-control enough for one day. He announced abruptly he was returning to the common room and walked out as quickly as he could. Every step he took his body tried to convince him he was moving in the wrong direction, and by the time he made it back to his dormitory he was panting with exertion.
He kicked off his boots and laid in the bed. Against his better judgement, he unzipped his trousers and released his straining erection. He knew it was not a good idea to indulge himself in this particular fantasy, but he couldn’t stop himself from picturing Ginny as he stroked himself. Merlin, she had felt so good against him. The taut, tone muscles of her athletic arms and legs, contrasted with the soft feminine swell of her ass and breasts. Her cute little mouth, agape with surprise. He imagined putting those pink lips to another use and came in his hand.
In the time it took him to clean himself up, he realized he was half hard again. He sighed in frustration, running his hands through his hair.
A revelation struck him light a bolt of lightning. Fine. He may have this strange infatuation with the littlest Weasley- and Merlin knew why- but she was not the only woman at Hogwarts. If “human intimacy”- as Dumbledore put it- was what he needed, well that he knew how to get.
He combed the grounds. Earlier that day he’d felt like the emptiness was a blessing, now he grit his teeth in irritation. Finally, sitting in the library he was Elise Abercrombie, a pretty sixth year Ravenclaw. She’d made her interest in him obvious in the past, and they’d flirted but he’d never been interested enough to pursue her. But for his purposes today, she was more than adequate.
She smiled when she saw him, “Hello, Draco.”
“Elise,” he answered, with his most charming smile.
He sat down next to her. She watched him with a puzzled expression. “Can I help you with something?”
His grin turned wolfish. “Oh, yes. I think you can.” His hand worked its way up her thigh, pushing her skirt up with it, until the only barrier between his fingers and her womanhood was her thin, lacy underwear.
Ten minutes later, she was perched on the sink in the boys’ loo with her legs wrapped around his hips. She looked exquisite- her long dark hair draping down her shoulders, her button up undone to the waist, her breasts bouncing and barely contained in her lace bra. Draco, however, could barely contain his disgust. His body teemed with the wrongness of it. Not Ginny. Not Ginny. Not Ginny.
Even when he closed his eyes and imagined it was her, he couldn’t convince his body. Everything was wrong. Her weight was wrong. The contour of her body. Even the smell of her. He pulled out. Elise whimpered.
“Done so soon?” she asked. It was meant to be seductive. Her voice grated on him.
“No,” he answered flatly. His pants were buckled and he was unjamming the door.
“But-but-“ Elise stammered. “I’m not done! You’re not done!”
Draco let the door closing behind him be his reply.
That night he dreamed of Ginny again. This time, he knew it was Ginny and he could see her face. She was on top, staring down at him, her hair cascading a curtain around them. She said his name, over and over in pleasure, she promised she was his, she begged to be his. The next day Draco woke feeling like he’d been beaten by the whomping willow. His head throbbed, and the pain in his chest had returned redoubled. Worse yet, he found when he pulled back his covers that the orgasm he’d felt in his dream had not been so imaginary after all.
Fuck. Fuck. If there was one thing Malfoys prided themselves on it was- well, everything. But self-control was near the top of that list. And this was not control. Merlin, he hadn’t had a wet dream since he was fourteen and a virgin.
He took his potions eagerly but they only took a slight edge off of his discomfort. He was quite sure that without the willpower potion he would have torn Ginny Weasley from her bed in the middle of the night-consequences be damned- just as he had imagined doing countless times as he had fallen asleep. So that at least seemed to be working.
He had woken up the day before feeling so good and even though he’d hope it was the potions, even though he’d tried desperately to convince himself, he had a sinking feeling that they had very little to do with it. No, he’d kissed Ginny Weasley, and all the pain had gone away. Now she was gone, and the pain was creeping back.
Despite the willpower potion, Draco wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw Ginny. He decided it was safest to skip breakfast. He made it through his first four classes, but by midday, the pain was extreme. He must have looked as poorly as he felt, because when he asked McGonagall in the middle of transfiguration if he could go to the infirmary she let him go without question.

Ginny Weasley stood outside the infirmary shaking in anger. She hated Malfoy. She had always hated Malfoy, but now more than ever. And yet Dumbledore had made it very clear that it was a matter of life and death and it had to be her, although he wouldn’t say why. She knew the moment she entered which bed was his- it was the only one with the curtains drawn back- and noticed with interest that Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey weren’t the only ones there. Professor Slughorn was there too, looking uncomfortable, and Professor McGonanal was wringing her hands in quiet concern.
“Ah,” Professor Dumbledore said, by way of greeting, and gestured for her to come over. “Ginny. It is good you are here, I think.”
They pulled the curtains back and she stifled a gasp. His skin was always pale but now there was a yellow pallor and a sheen of sweat, even though the hospital wing was uncomfortably cold. He looked as though he’d lost weight and the angles of his face jutted out more noticeably than before. The skin under his eyes was dark purple, and he was breathing in ragged gasps.
“What-” Ginny stopped herself. Dumbledore had already told he that he would not tell her what was wrong with him.
“What can I do, Professor?” She finally asked through grit teeth. If the lead healer, the Potions Master, and Dumbledore himself couldn’t help, surely there was nothing she could do.
“Just being here, I suspect, will help,” Dumbledore said, kindly. McGonagall touched her arm briefly as a show of support. They brought her a chair, and she sat awkwardly next to his bed. The professors excused themselves one by one and Madam Pomfrey went back to bustling around the infirmary.
Ginny studied Malfoy. Just being here, he’d said, but she wasn’t sure anything could help him. He looked like death. She looked about for something to do- she hadn’t brought any of her schoolwork with her, not even a book. She couldn’t sit here staring at him all day. She looked at the nightstand and felt a twinge of sympathy. She’d been in the hospital wing for extended stays before. Once, in her first year after the events in the Chamber of Secrets and twice for Quidditch injuries. In every case, her nightstand had been overflowing. Luna had brought her a copy of Quiddler, and Hermione would drop in with all her assignments. Ron, Harry, and the twins would bring chocolate frogs and licorice snaps. They would stay and joke with her until she was shrieking with laughter and Madam Pomfrey kicked them all out. Draco Malfoy’s bedside table was empty, and the infirmary was quiet.
You reap what you sow, Ginny thought dryly. But still, growing up in the Burrow it was hard to imagine not having anyone to take care of you. She was interrupted from her thoughts by Draco jerking violently in her sleep. At first she though he was dying. But then she saw his eyes fluttering beneath their lids and she realized he was having a nightmare.
Ginny knew about nightmares. She’d had more than her fair share. And a good deal of them were a direct result of the Malfoy family. She glared at him, angry suddenly. How dare he? How dare he? She wasn’t sure if she mean Malfoy or Dumbledore.
He had assaulted her- threatened to rape her- and now she was just supposed to sit here …doing what exactly? Dumbledore had promised he wouldn’t come near her again, and now here she was and he wouldn’t even tell her why. Well they could both be damned if they thought she was just going to sit here. She stood up- and felt like she’d been electrified. She looked around in surprise. Malfoy’s right hand had fallen off the bed and hung limply at its side. She must have brushed it standing up.
Cautiously, she reached out and poked it. She felt the jolt again, and the skin of her hand hummed pleasantly where she had touched him. Malfoy’s response was even more dramatic- he’d taken in a deep gasp of air and released it slowly in a sigh of obvious relief. His breathing slowed. Ginny stood watching for a moment. He had taken several even breaths, but in just a few seconds he seemed to be back to struggling for air.
She touched his wrist again. The jolt was less surprising this time, but no less powerful. She watched Malfoy’s chest carefully. His breaths becoming quieter, more regular. His face slackened slightly, some of the tension draining away. There was no denying she’d had an effect on him.
Driven totally by instinct, she pulled the blankets back and crawled into the bed with him. She pressed his body against hers, trying to get as much contact as she could. He was uncomfortably warm, and he smelled sour. She wondered how long he’d been in this bed. She knew he’d been absent for classes for the last few days, but couldn’t pin down how long it had been. Two days? Maybe three?
Despite that, it felt nice touching him- like laying in a sunny spot on a cool day. She felt ridiculous, but his breathing has noticeably slowed, and his body had stopped shaking. She laid like that for maybe twenty minutes, before the curtains opening made her jump.
Madam Pomfrey was holding a tray full of potions, her eyes wide with surprise, and her face forming into a scowl. But then she looked a Draco, and her face changed. She seemed to be conflicted between yelling at Ginny about decorum and decency and upsetting her patient, and sighing in relief. There was no denying that Malfoy already looked visible better.
She sniffed instead. “We haven’t been able to get his potions into him since yesterday evening. If he wakes up, make him drink these.”
She set the tray down and disappeared without another word. Ginny pushed herself up on her elbow to examine the potions. One was a thin purple liquid, probably a strengthening potion. Another looked like a draft for dreamless sleep. There were five or six others, and she could only guess what was in them.
She laid in the bed awkwardly the rest of the day. It was awkward and it made her neck hurt. She only got up twice, once to relieve herself and another to walk a cramp out of her calf muscles. Around eight, she stood a third time. She went and used the washroom, and found Madam Pomfrey.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“Of course, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, “We’ll have something brought up straight away.”
Ginny went back to the bed. She looked at Malfoy. In the time she’d been gone, he’d begun to gently pant, and the faintest shimmer of sweat glistened on his forehead. But, overall, his color had improved tremendously. The bruises under his eyes had lightened, and some color had come back into his face. As she pulled the covers back, he stirred.
“Ginny?” He croaked. His throat was dry, but she could hear the surprise in his voice.
“You have to drink these,” she said urgently, “can you sit up?”
But his eyes were closed and he was asleep again. Ginny sighed. A house elf appeared a moment later with her dinner.
“Oh, er, Miss? Could you do me another favor?”
The house elf flinched. “Begging your pardon, please, Miss shouldn’t be calling Tippy ‘miss’.”
“Oh, sorry, er, Tippy. I was just wondering if you could go to my room and get me a few of my things?”
Tippy was happy to go. She knew she could have asked Madam Pomfrey and she could have arranged something, but she wanted to be as discrete as possible. Merlin forbid anyone find out what she was doing her.
Tippy returned with a few of her text books, and a pair of pajamas. Ginny thanked her profusely, which seemed to make the poor house elf very uncomfortable. Once she was gone, Ginny glanced down at Malfoy to be sure he was asleep and then quickly stripped off her uniform and changed into the pajamas. Laying in the bed was slightly more comfortable after that, without her school skirt bunching in the sheets. She grabbed one of her books and read until she fell asleep.
The second day passed much the same as the first. Tippy returned with breakfast and a set of clean clothes for Ginny. Madam Pomfrey checked in every hour to look at his progress, making approving noises as his color and breathing continued to improve, but he still hadn’t woken for more than a few seconds here or there, and he still felt feverish to the touch. By the end of the second afternoon, Ginny was bored to tears. Dumbledore hadn’t come by again, and Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t or couldn’t give Ginny anymore answers as to what exactly was going on. Leaving his side for more than a few minutes resulted in a noticeable decline in his condition, but overall he was looking much better. That evening, he even opened his eyes several time and seemed to look around the room with much more focus than he had the last seventy two hours.

The third morning Ginny expected Madam Pomfrey when the curtains moved, but was surprised to see Dumbledore, and several of the other professors as well. She was sitting in her pajamas, in the chair at the foot of the bed. Madam Pomfrey went immediately to his side to check on him.
“I got him to drink the potions,” she said, quickly.
McGonagall’s mouth opened in surprise. “He woke up?”
“Someone’s used Petrificus Totalus on him!” Madam Pomfrey, shrieked in horror. “We do not petrify patients! What happened?”
“He woke up,” Ginny answered.
Madam Pomfrey quickly muttered the counter-curse, freeing him. He glared at Ginny.
“That’s cheating,” he said, haughtily, “Bringing a wand to bed.”
“I think we can all agree that he’s feeling much better,” Ginny said through gritted teeth, standing to leave. “So my work- ” Whatever the hell it was, she added mentally, “is done here. I’m leaving.”
“I think that would be a very good idea,” Dumbledore said at the exact same moment Malfoy growled, “Like hell you are.”
Dumbledore gave him a withering glare, and Malfoy subdued himself. “Better. Now, Ms. Weasley. I think some explanations are in order. But first I need some time to speak to Mr. Malfoy, and I’m sure Madam Pomfrey will want to examine him. In the meantime, might I suggest you get yourself some breakfast? It’s waffles today.”
“Yes, Headmaster,” she said, and walked as quickly as she could away.
She was summoned to the headmaster’s office just after lunch time. She was in charms, and Flitwit gave her a sympathetic smile.
“Best to get a move on,” he told her. Once she was in the hall, she considered what would happen if she just went back to her room instead. It was a tempting thought. Whatever was happening with Draco Malfoy she wanted no part of it.
But… she was curious. And Dumbledore had promised explanations. She supposed it couldn’t hurt to go and hear him out. At least find out what the hell was going on.
Dumbledore was seated at his desk when she came into his office. She was not at all surprised or pleased to see that Malfoy was seated across from him.
“Please, sit down,” Dumbledore gestured to the chair next to Malfoy. She grabbed the chair by the arm and pulled it several feet closer to her- farther from Malfoy- before she sat down. His expression darkened as she did in- what? Anger? Annoyance? Disgust?
“Ms. Weasley, I must begin by apologizing. I have put you in an incredibly uncomfortable position these last few days, and given you very little explanation as to why.”
“You said Malfoy was sick,” Ginny prompted. She wasn’t quite ready to accept his apology yet. “And that I was the only one who could help him.”
“Yes. That is true. Would you prefer to explain it Mr. Malfoy, or shall I?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I might as well I guess,” he was carefully studying a golden globe on Dumbledore’s desk. “Dumbledore thinks my father did- something- to me when I was a baby. Something that changed me. He gave my mother veela blood while she was pregnant and now I’m experiencing,” he paused, and looked at her for the first time, “Side-effects.”
“Side-effects?”
“Veela’s need…. intimacy or else they die. And it seems like I’ve inherited that.”
“But- but you can’t have. He can’t have,” Ginny added, looking at Dumbledore. “Veela are all women.”
Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Normally, yes. Men may pass on the gene, but only female offspring are born veela. But what the older Mr. Malfoy did was far from the natural order of things, and it seems to have had some unusual consequences.”
“So you’re telling me Malfoy is a veela? Like turn-into-a-bird-woo-you-with-their-sexy-dance veela?”
“Well, no. Not really. He has not, as far as I know, inherited every characteristic. He cannot change into a harpy, or throw fire.”
“But if you’re nice, Weasley,” Malfoy said with a crooked grin, “I will show you my sexy dance.”
She glared at him. “Don’t veela usually seduce burly sailors?”
“Lucky for you your resemblance is so uncanny.”
Ginny drew her wand. Dumbledore cleared his throat delicately. “Perhaps we could get back to the matter at hand? Mr. Malfoy may not be fully veela, but his need for human intimacy is very real. To go without would be excruciating, and maybe even fatal. You saw firsthand the result of him going without it.”
“I don’t see what I have to do with any of this,” Ginny said angrily. “So Malfoy needs to- I don’t know- seduce people. He’s been round the bend with every trollop at Hogwarts already” (from beside her she heard Malfoy snort) “He can just toss off and leave me alone.”
“Ah, yes. Well I’m afraid it doesn’t seem to work that way, in Mr. Malfoy’s case. His particular need seems to be specific.”
“Specific?” She asked, her eyes narrow. She waited but no one offered any further explanation. A moment later, his meaning dawned on her. “Specific to me?”
She turned to look at Malfoy, but he didn’t meet her eyes. He was studying his manicured nails in careful nonchalance.
“So are you telling me- what? I have to have sex with Malfoy?” She sputtered.
“No,” Dumbledore said smiling gently. At the same time Malfoy shouted yes from beside her. She looked over at him. His neck was now flushed a delicate pink. She couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or something else she didn’t want to consider.
“No,” Dumbledore repeated, more firmly. “Not as far as we know. Veela crave other things besides the obvious. Real veela can utilize affection, emotional intimacy, jealousy. Why do you think so many men feel compelled to show off for them? Do great deeds for them? I have no reason to believe Mr. Malfoy would be any different. Simple physical contact seems to have improved his condition dramatically. It is my belief that that alone would be enough to spare him from the greatest part of his suffering. Perhaps even spending time near each in close proximity would be enough. Ms. Weasley, the key thing here is that no one is asking you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. No one can force you into anything. This need not be your cross to bear, if you cannot bear it.”
“But if I don’t do something… Malfoy could get sick again?”
“I believe we can say with certainty he would.”
“And if it gets bad enough he… he could die?”
“We know very little for sure, but I think all evidence so far indicates that, yes, he could die.”
“And I am the only one? No one else can…” She trailed off. She looked at Malfoy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. He didn’t look altogether well either, not like he had when she’d left him this morning. It had only been a few hours, but his color was beginning to fade and the shadows under his eyes were returning.
“Not so far as we know,” Dumbledore answered gently.
“So there really is no choice then, is there?” She asked. She hated Malfoy. More than she’d probably hated anyone else short of Voldemort himself. But she couldn’t just let him die like this. It would feel like murder, and she said as much. Dumbledore sent Draco away then. He pouted, opened his mouth to argue, but closed it a moment later and left.
“Ginny,” Dumbledore said softly once he was gone. “You are of age. This decision is yours to make, but I know how difficult this must be for you. If you would like your parents-”
“NO!” Ginny said forcefully. Merlin’s beard. She was already discussing her theoretical sex life with her headmaster, there was no reason to bring her parents into it as well. There was no way they’d agree to any of this.
“You don’t have to do this. You do have a choice.”
“With all due respect, Headmaster, we both know I don’t,” She said grimly.
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The Thin Line