A/N: Here is Chapter 7! I loved writing this one, especially the match, so I hope you all like it!
“Alright. Katie, you’re going to come from the left, see, and Ginny and Demelza will back you up from below. Remember, the left.”
Ginny sat on the floor with her legs folded beneath her and her Cleansweep Seven on her lap, watching Harry zip around the meeting room from person to person, waving a stack of game plans in their faces.
Classes had passed in a boring blur, and a desperate itch to be up in the air had been growing in her fingertips since breakfast. She listened to her fellow Chaser assure Harry (for the sixth time, no less) that she did, in fact, know her right from her left, and suppressed an amused grin. Brushing a smudge of dirt off the handle of her broom, she wondered vaguely if Malfoy was that anxious before turning his own team loose onto the field.
Ginny frowned. ‘Don’t think about him,’ she scolded herself, forcing her mind away from that particular topic. She really didn’t need the aggravation that would surely result from letting her thoughts dwell on such a confusing subject. This was, after all, the game that would decide which House would be awarded the Quidditch Cup for the year.
“Listen up, team!” Harry called, clapping his hands together. All eyes turned towards their captain as he walked to the front of the room and let out an excited breath of air. “This is it, guys. This is what we’ve been working towards all year, and today’s results will make or break Gryffindor’s chances of winning the Cup.”
“Here, here!” shouted Ron, raising his hand in a mock toast.
Ginny rolled her eyes at him. “Save your enthusiasm for the field, why don’t you?” she said sarcastically, as he stuck his tongue out at her. “Merlin knows, you’ll need it,” she added under her breath.
Oblivious to the siblings’ spat, Harry continued his speech. “Now I want you all to remember the tactics we’ve gone over, especially the new maneuvers. Are there any questions? No? Good.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Then we’re ready to go.”
An audible sigh of relief could be heard throughout the room, and Ginny scrambled to her feet, eager to begin the game. ‘Finally,’ she thought thankfully. For some reason the meeting had felt like it went on for days, and she couldn’t wait to get up in the air. Giving the laces on her trainers one last tug, she tucked her broom under her arm and followed the rest of the team onto the field.
The roar of the spectators floated out over the Quidditch pitch, and a gust of wind blew her hair behind her shoulders. She glanced up at the commentator’s podium and saw Luna Lovegood, with a Gryffindor lion perched on her blonde head, calling the names of the players into a megaphone. As each team member took off into the air, the cheers of the crowd grew louder and Ginny felt a buzz of excitement grow in her stomach. She was glad to find that her morning forecast had been a perfect prediction, as the weather couldn’t have been better if someone had planned it. At last, she heard Luna call out “Weasley!” in her magnified voice, and swung her leg over her broomstick, pushing off hard from the ground.
It was truly magnificent. The rush of adrenaline, the raw freedom, the feeling of being weightless, suspended in the air by next to nothing. Ginny urged her broom higher, savoring the tranquility that she had almost forgot existed, as her hair streamed out behind her in a fiery river. All her worries about school or Harry or Malfoy melted away, leaving her happier than she had been in weeks.
Flying into place between Demelza and Katie, Ginny watched as the Slytherin team mounted their brooms. Unable to restrain herself, she let her eyes lock onto a blonde head and followed its progress into the air.
A whistle blew loudly and she started, glancing around to ensure that no one had noticed who she had been staring at. Madam Hooch was standing in the middle of the field, peering up at the two teams through her hawk-like eyes, with a silver whistle between her teeth.
“You all know that this match will determine the winner of the Quidditch Cup for this year,” she barked. “But keep in mind that the rules don’t change because of it. I don’t want to see any of them broken, understood? Now good luck, and may the best team win!” With that, she kicked open the trunk and released the Bludgers and Golden Snitch, simultaneously throwing the Quaffle up into the air.
The field exploded with moving color as blurs of crimson and green dove towards the scarlet ball, while others soared away into their positions. Racing ahead, Ginny managed to duck under a Slytherin chaser’s outstretched arms and snatch the Quaffle before he could capture it. She dove down and passed it over her shoulder to Katie, nearly colliding with one of the stands in her haste.
She veered to the right, skidding to a stop in midair. ‘Whew!’ she thought, her heart pounding. ‘Not even two minutes into the game and I’ve already almost knocked myself out!’ Catching her breath, she zoomed back to the center of the field, where her fellow Chasers were tossing the Quaffle back and forth, over the heads of the Slytherin players. Weaving through the crowd of brooms, she once again seized the ball and shot off towards the Slytherin goal posts.
“Looks like Gryffindor’s got the Quaffle again,” came the dreamy voice of the commentator as Ginny neared the other team’s Keeper. “I think she’s heading for those big hoops over there, but I can’t say that’s a good idea. They look like Fairy Rings to me, and everyone knows that you shouldn’t””
A deafening cheer rising from the mass of red and gold in the stands cut her off, and it seemed they would never know (nor care) just what it was that they weren’t supposed to do to Fairy Rings. While Luna was speculating about her intelligence level, Ginny had evaded the Slytherin Keeper and managed to score the first goal of the game, shooting the Quaffle straight through the center hoop. Letting out a laugh of triumph, she whirled around and high-fived several of her team members.
“Great job, Ginny!” Harry shouted as he flew past her, grinning from ear to ear.
Her single score seemed to have a colossal effect on the rest of the team, as they zipped animatedly around the field, dodging Bludgers easily. Ginny felt her confidence rise to immeasurable heights and did a couple of loop-de-loops, not able to resist showing off a bit for the crowd.
But this buoyant feeling was drastically short-lived.
Perhaps the Gryffindor team had gotten too big-headed, or maybe they were just distracted by their momentary victory. Whatever the reason, the air was soon filled with the applause of the Slytherin spectators, as their Chasers scored two back-to-back goals.
Ginny’s self-assurance drained slowly away, and she darted desperately around the field, trying in vain to get possession of the Quaffle once again. She heard Harry shouting orders to Ritchie Coote and caught a fragment of his words as she flew by.
“I don’t care if Hooch told you to play fair! Give him a bloody concussion if you have to, just don’t let them score again…”
His frantic voice faded into the breeze, and Ginny could tell that he was on his last nerve. At this point, though, there was no time to console him. She spotted the Quaffle under the arm of one of the Slytherin Chasers and took off through the air, ignoring the biting wind that beat at her face as she sped along. But before she could reach the crimson ball, a blur of green crossed her path and sent her spinning off course. She grasped the handle of her broom hard, and with all her strength, managed to straighten herself out.
Just in time to see Malfoy’s smirking face as he raced away into the sky.
Ginny scowled in his general direction, disappointed that he was already too far off to see her. She refused to let him distract her from winning this match. That much, at least, was certain.
Spinning around vehemently, she caught Demelza’s eye and jerked her head towards the Slytherin Chaser. The two of them zigzagged through the air, rapidly closing in on the holder of the Quaffle as he flew at the Gryffindor goal posts. Ginny rocketed up from beneath him and punched the ball out of his arms, but was once again knocked off course as another opponent snatched it from her. No more than a minute later, they scored for a third time, and the Slytherin stands erupted with cheers that tore at her eardrums.
‘Harry was right about them,’ Ginny thought grimly. ‘They are a lot better than last year.’
She laughed cynically.
Who would have thought that having Malfoy as their captain would spark such an improvement? She had always known he was good, but that had never kept Gryffindor from their usual stunning victories before. For the first time, she was actually starting to doubt her team’s chances of winning.
Before she could get too desperate though, an enormous gasp manifested itself from the hundreds of voices belonging to spectators from each and every House.
Ginny whipped her head around, searching for the cause of this reaction. Her eyes finally landed on two streaks of color, which were catapulting towards the ground in hot pursuit of a tiny fleck of gold. She felt hope rise inside of her for a fleeting moment, before realizing that, miraculously, the green blur seemed to be taking the lead. Dread replaced her temporary optimism, as the shouts coming from the crowd grew exponentially and filled her head with a rhythmic pounding.
Or perhaps that was her heart, beating frantically inside her chest.
Whatever the reason, it was enough to fully and completely distract her, and she didn’t tear her eyes away from the exhilarating race until a yell pierced her focus.
“Ginny, watch out!”
Twisting her head in the direction of the voice, she saw Katie’s fearful face, along with the reason for her warning. A speeding Bludger was barreling towards her at record-breaking pace, whistling angrily as it flew across the pitch. Time seemed to slow down, and Ginny froze as the iron ball grew relentlessly nearer and nearer, blank surprise emptying her mind and preventing her from moving. When it was only meters away, she snapped out of her daze, but it was already too late.
Ginny let out a soft “Oh!” of surprise, her eyes widening, before the Bludger collided sickeningly with her shoulder. She felt something inside her crack, and pain flooded her right side, ripping through her like an out of control forest fire. Her grip on her broom handle loosened and she slipped sideways, only vaguely comprehending what a drop from this height was sure to result in.
A second later she was falling, falling with no means of support towards the dusty floor of the Quidditch pitch. A rushing noise like the sounds of a thousand waterfalls filled her ears and drowned out the cries of the spectators. Plummeting faster and faster through the air, Ginny felt her hold on reality slip, and her surroundings melted into vibrant swirls of color. Then they too grew dim, losing their intensity and merging with the streaming air, the bite of the wind on her body, the screaming that just barely reached her ears…
And then there was nothing.
Ginny kept her eyes squeezed shut as she crept back into consciousness, her cloudy mind unwilling to awaken. Faint murmurs were coming from somewhere close by, perhaps even from one of her dreams, but she couldn’t for the life of her make out what they were saying. Cursing them silently for interrupting her nap, she tried to pull a pillow over her ears and block out the despicable voices.
Her arm remained motionless on the mattress. Frowning slightly, she concentrated all her efforts on lifting it.
When she had been fighting in vain for several minutes, Ginny finally gave up and pondered instead the strange mumblings that had awoken her in the first place. She found that if she listened very closely, straining her ears as far as they would go, she could understand snatches of what they were whispering.
“…think she’ll be awake soon?”
“I don’t know. Fell a long way...”
“…can’t believe he…”
“Shhh. Not so loud, guys. You’ll wake her …”
The voices grew quieter still and, try as she might, Ginny could no longer follow their conversation. Before she had time to lament this though, a sharp prickle of pain stabbed at her shoulder, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.
The whispering stopped.
“Ginny?” she heard a familiar voice call out softly.
Forcing her eyes open, she was met with a round, very freckled face, just inches from her own.
“Ron?” she questioned, squinting up at him. This was very odd indeed. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing in my bedroom?”
Her brother grinned and leaned back so she could sit up. “Well, last time I checked you didn’t consider the Hospital Wing a very desirable place to sleep,” he replied teasingly. “But, who knows, some of these habits of yours…”
Ginny ignored him (something she had become quite good at over the years) and struggled into a sitting position. The useless limb she had once called an arm hung limply at her side, and she scowled at it grumpily before surveying the room.
Sure enough, she was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by unusually shaped bottles of pills and potions. The clean smells that were typical of any infirmary wafted around her and caused her nose to wrinkle in disapproval. Propping herself up with her only mobile arm, Ginny glanced back at where Ron had been sitting and was surprised to see the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, along with a worried-looking Hermione, standing beside her bed in their uniforms. Even more puzzling was the fact that she herself was wearing a scarlet robe, and her hair was feeling more windswept than ever.
Then something clicked inside her head, and she remembered.
“Oh my god.” Ginny breathed, hardly daring to continue. “The match! What happened? We lost, didn’t we? Oh, Harry I’m so sorry, if only I’d been paying more attention””
Harry shook his head and a smile replaced his solemn expression. “We didn’t lose,” he said simply. Holding out a gloved hand, he uncurled his fingers and Ginny peered into them.
A rather crumpled Golden Snitch lay twitching in his palm.
“We won?” she whispered disbelievingly. “We actually won?”
“Yes!” Harry nearly shouted, and she could tell that he must have been working hard to stay somber while she was unconscious. The excitement was clearly threatening to overwhelm him. “We got the Cup and crushed Slytherin into a messy pulp, all in one go! You should have seen it. They were livid! Crabbe even snapped his broom in half, right out in front of the crowd!”
He said this all very quickly, and by the time he had finished, the majority of the Gryffindor team had joined in. Their voices overlapped into one clamorous jumble, reliving their moments of victory, but Ginny had stopped listening. Her brow creased in confusion, and she was staring very hard at the Snitch in her captain’s hand.
“But…you were losing,” she said quietly, turning her eyes towards Harry’s face. “I saw the whole thing! Malfoy was ahead of you. He was inches from winning. You couldn’t have caught up in time, it’s just not possible…”
She trailed off at the uncomfortable expressions that had settled on her team members’ faces. Katie had started fidgeting with her broom, untangling the knots that appeared after every match, and Ron was glaring sulkily at the floor, his lips set in a stern line. Several others became suddenly fascinated with their fingernails, as if they could see them grow if they just stared hard enough. The only one who hadn’t sunk into a dismal silence was Hermione, who was glaring disapprovingly at each robed player in turn.
She was the first to speak.
“Oh for goodness sake!” she huffed, throwing her hands in the air. Her brunette curls seemed to grow in volume at her mood, making her resemble an exasperated grizzly bear. “For a hero to the wizarding world, you sure are a coward sometimes, Harry! She’s going to find out sooner or later, so you might as well make sure she learns it from you.”
Ginny was completely nonplussed. “Learn what? What are you all talking about?” she questioned, attempting to sit up straighter without further injuring her arm.
When it became evident that Harry was no where near revealing the subject of their conversation, Hermione took things back into her own hands. After shooting a harsh glance at the others, her expression turned almost sympathetic when she looked back at Ginny.
“He caught you,” she said simply, ignoring the loud grinding of Ron’s teeth behind her. “Malfoy saw you fall, and he caught you.”
Ginny blinked, Hermione’s words not fully registering in her mind. It was as if she was incapable of comprehending their meaning. Like they were in a different language; some foreign tongue that was no longer used in modern society.
Malfoy? Save her? It was impossible.
“You’re joking, right?” she asked, desperate for a logical explanation to this development. But their faces carried no laughter, only grim acceptance. Or in Ron’s case, blatant denial. She continued, nonetheless.
“He would have won the Cup, though! For the first time in six years, Slytherin would have won!”
“We know,” Harry replied, avoiding her eyes and examining the Snitch in his hand. “Just like you said, he was inches away from beating us. Then all of a sudden he took off, and I didn’t even think to wonder why. If I’d just glanced up for one second…if I wasn’t so obsessed with winning, I would have seen you fall.”
Through her overpowering astonishment at having learned the identity of her savior, Ginny felt a stir of sympathy for Harry. It was obvious that he was feeling guilty, and maybe even a tad resentful, that he hadn’t been the one to rescue her. Reaching out her uninjured arm, she laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Harry, don’t you dare beat yourself up about this. It’s not worth it, honestly. We won the Cup, right? That’s why we’ve been training all year! This makes all those times you dragged us out of bed at five in the morning to practice in the snow, or sleet, or hail worthwhile.”
Harry had the decency for a sheepish grin, and Ginny was relieved to feel the mood lighten considerably. Fierce shock and confusion still lingered in her mind, but heaven help her if she was going to let that show through to her friends. No matter how insane the notion of Malfoy as her rescuer was, it was something she would have to deal with on her own.
“So,” she continued, forcing her face to look as cheerful as possible. “I guess a bit of celebration is in order, don’t you think?” It took every bit of willpower she had to suggest such a thing, as without a doubt there was nothing she would have enjoyed less. Some quiet, peaceful time to think would have far more welcome at the moment.
But, true to her falsely joyful self, she sat beaming up at the Gryffindor team like she hadn’t a care in the world. She kept up this façade as they crowded around her bed, their previous uncertainty long forgotten, and began talking excitedly about the match, abusing the Slytherins at every chance they came across. Ginny nodded and smiled, trying desperately to keep her mind on the topic at hand, but luckily her discomfort didn’t last long.
A door at the opposite end of the Hospital Wing flew open, and a rather frazzled looking Madam Pomfrey came bustling towards the group of students. Stopping at Ginny’s bedside table, she set a bright purple bottle down with a thump and turned a disapproving pair of eyes on the Gryffindor team.
“What have I told you about throwing parties in the hospital?!” she said harshly. “I expected more out of you, Mr. Potter. Really, can’t you see this girl needs rest? A broken arm, not to mention the stress of having fallen from one of those ridiculous brooms, and you still attempt to involve her in a celebration?”
“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said quickly, backing away from the bed. The rest of the team stood hurriedly from chairs and collected their brooms, glancing nervously at the irritable nurse. “We’ll just be going now.”
“Too right you will,” she mumbled, more to herself than anything. “Now, out! Out!”
Bidding their injured friend a rushed goodbye, the red and gold clad Gryffindors piled out of the Hospital Wing, shouting promises to come back and visit soon over their shoulders. The door swung shut behind them and quiet settled over the room, bringing a sigh of relief from Ginny’s lips. Madam Pomfrey was continuing her usual spiel on the dangers of “that preposterous sport,” while measuring out a careful dosage of the purple potion, but Ginny’s mind was far away.
Now that her teammates were gone, she was free to dwell on the reason for her miraculous survival. Someone, she admitted reluctantly to herself, she had been far too preoccupied with lately. So much, in fact, that she was starting to wonder if she would end up suffering permanent brain damage from the whole ordeal.
At least that would be worth a laugh.
But, mental injuries aside, she just couldn’t stop herself from wondering about him. His one chance at success had been flapping its glittery wings in his face, and he had put her safety above it all. In front of the entire student population, no less! If being seen speaking to a Gryffindor was enough to earn him a lifetime of shunning, she hated to think what the punishment for actually saving one would be.
In the end, there was only one question capable of encompassing the swarm of thoughts buzzing around in her head.
Why?
Why had he caught her? Why hadn’t he left it to one of her own teammates, who could have surely gotten there in time? Why did he care?
Still pondering this mystifying turn of events, Ginny failed to resist Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations and allowed a syrupy magenta liquid to be poured down her throat. She was jolted sharply back into reality as it burned at her mouth with an acidic sourness, sliding across her tongue and dripping into her lungs. Madam Pomfrey drained the last of the bottle, shook a few stubborn drops out of the bottom, and pursed her lips in disapproval at the disgusted look on her patient’s face.
“Really, now,” she huffed, cramming the empty container into her apron pocket. “Make sure you drink every bit of that potion. That arm is going to take some time to heal. The bones are completely shattered, so don’t expect to get out of her before tomorrow night at the least.”
Nodding reluctantly, Ginny swallowed the vile substance. Her face contorted in revulsion as it slid behind her tongue, but the smoldering sensation lessened as she felt the potion settle in her stomach. She repressed a gag with difficulty.
“Thanks,” she choked out hoarsely, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You’re very welcome, dear,” Madam Pomfrey replied absentmindedly. It seemed that at least some of her annoyance towards the situation had faded, and she was no longer shaking her head or clicking her tongue at random intervals.
Ginny watched as she gathered up her things and hustled over to the next hospital bed, currently occupied by a very scaly-looking third year. Losing interest rather quickly (as such blemishes were far from unusual at Hogwarts), Ginny let out a long breath of air and leaned back against the cotton pillows. She was suddenly exhausted, and the idea of falling back into unconsciousness was starting to seem very appealing.
But no sooner than her eyelids had begun to droop shut, the door to the Hospital Wing swung open yet again.
Groaning miserably at her luck, Ginny sank further into her pillow and tried to block out the rest of the world. ‘Really, this is a hospital!’ she thought irritably. ‘People shouldn’t be allowed to pop in and out, disturbing the peace and keeping me a”’
“Ah, Mr. Malfoy! Glad you could get here so quickly,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice brought her swiftly out of her musings.
Ginny’s eyes snapped open. Sure enough, Malfoy had entered the Hospital Wing and shut the door behind him, a corked potion bottle in his hand. He had changed out of his Quidditch robes and back into the usual plain, black uniform, his Slytherin badge catching the light as he turned around.
A constant reminder of what she had gotten herself into.
“Professor Snape sent me to bring you this,” she heard him say, holding out the bottle to Madam Pomfrey. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, but she thought they might have flickered briefly in her direction. “He said he’s brewed it according to your instructions exactly.”
“Very good, very good,” the Healer replied, uncorking the bottle and sniffing its contents. “Poor Mr. Winfrey has given himself an awful rash, and I’m afraid none of my own medicines are strong enough to get him up on his feet again.” The reptilian patient gave a few hacking coughs at this, as it seemed that even his throat was covered in coarse scales.
Closing the potion bottle, Madam Pomfrey thanked Malfoy once more and hurried into her office, shutting the door behind her. Without another word, the now empty-handed Slytherin turned to leave.
Ginny couldn’t believe his nerve. “Hey!” she called indignantly from her bed, in an attempt to get his attention. He stopped walking, his hand resting on the doorknob. “What are you playing at? You can’t just walk in here and ignore me. I know what happened at the match, and I won’t deny that it’s a disturbing concept, but pretending I don’t exist won’t make it all disappear, you know.”
She glared at the back of his blonde head, unsure whether or not she really wanted him to turn around. What if he just stared right through her, like he did at breakfast? She suddenly started wishing she had kept silent and let him leave. But then again, this might be her only chance to find out what went on in that over-inflated head of his.
“That’s not a very nice way to talk to the person who rescued you, now is it?” Malfoy said finally, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned around.
“Yeah, well, since when have we ever been nice to each other?” she replied testily. “Did you think saving me would change any of that?”
“So we could live happily ever after, like some sodding fairytale? No thanks,” he spat, his words coated with venom. He was looking at her indirectly. Not the same blank stare he had adopted at breakfast, but still avoiding her eyes, like she could burn a hole through him with her gaze.
Ginny felt her blood boil angrily. “Well if that’s not the reason, then I can’t imagine what is. You must have just gone temporarily mad in the middle of the match, unless”” She paused in her heated rant, as a sudden thought struck her. “Unless you did it all on purpose!”
Malfoy’s brow creased disbelievingly. “What? Have you completely lost your mind?!”
But Ginny, caught up entirely in her newfound suspicions, ignored him completely.
“You planned this so you could dangle it over my head for the rest of my life! God, how could I be so stupid? This is obviously just another of your insane schemes to prove how superior you are, compared to us measly little Gryffindors, falling off our pathetic brooms left and right! ‘Oh Malfoy, come save us! We’re so helpless, we need a big, important Slytherin to rescue us! Then he can go tell all his little friends how he’s so brave, and noble, and”’”
“Weaslette, shut up!”
She did, though quite reluctantly.
They glowered at each other from across the room, eyes narrowed and arms (or arm, in Ginny’s case) crossed tightly over dully pounding heartbeats. Her mind registered blankly that this was the first time since yesterday that he was actually looking at her.
“Why do you call me that?” she asked finally, bringing their tense silence to an end. A trace of sulkiness hung in her voice, giving it the tone of a whine.
He didn’t answer; only stared back with an almost frightening intensity.
“Malfoy?” Ginny prompted curiously.
Silence.
She tried a different approach. “Malfoy, why did you save me?”
This finally brought about a reaction, though not at all what she had expected. Instead of his usual mocking sneer, a dark expression flashed across his face like lightning, as if he were suddenly in pain. “I always knew Weasley’s had abnormally thick skulls, but I never thought they were completely brain dead,” he said quietly, an unmistakable snarl in his words.
“What do you”” Ginny began, her face twisted in confusion at his cryptic answer. But before she could finish, Madam Pomfrey came rushing into the room for the second time, brandishing yet another potion bottle.
Momentarily distracted, the two of them abandoned their heated questioning. Ginny pulled her blankets hastily around her body and folded her good arm over them, hoping to avoid another tirade about the dangers of overexerting herself. Madam Pomfrey, not noticing that Malfoy had yet to leave the Hospital Wing, walked straight back to Ginny’s bed.
“Oh dear,” she sighed, clicking her tongue as she examined her patient’s bandaged arm. “That medicine should have sent you right off to sleep so this can heal!” She uncorked the bottle in her other hand, and measured out a second glass of the syrupy potion.
“But I”” Ginny stammered, looking from the medicine, to Malfoy, and back again. She hadn’t found out what he meant. She couldn’t sleep now. She had to finish asking him…
But Madam Pomfrey had already begun to pour the contents of the glass into her mouth, the familiar sting burning her throat once again. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard, gritting her teeth as the potion sent rivers of sparks through her veins. Then they flickered out, and a blanket of exhaustion replaced them. Her head fell heavily onto her pillow as she struggled to keep her eyelids from shutting, their sudden heaviness making it harder and harder to stay awake.
She cast a final glance around the room, catching an indescribable expression on Malfoy’s face, and then she was asleep.