This fanfic is starts immediately after the end of OotP (I am pretty much in denial about HBP!) I'm going to try really hard to make sure that I don't write anyone too OOC, so I want you all to tell me if I slip up! I also won't be introducing any major OCs. All reviews are appreciated, especially constructive criticism; I'm open to all comments and want to improve my writing. Oh - and also tell me if I get anything wrong - I try to stick to canon as much as possible, but I'm definitely not infallible!

I'm going to put thoughts in italics, just in case you get confused.

The usual disclaimer applies: I don't own any of these characters or anything connected to Harry Potter, I'm not making any money out of this, etc. etc. Don't sue me, I'm impoverished enough as it is. Let's all feel sorry for me...deprived, impoverished student that I am...ah well! On with the story!

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Loud roared the dreadful thunder,

The rain a deluge of showers.

from Andrew Cherry's 'Bay of Biscay'

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Ginny Weasley sighed heavily, wriggling slightly on her broomstick. Her behind felt completely numb. The soft sound of her sigh was immediately snatched away by the howling wind; it tugged at her robes and whipped her hair, so that her normally pale face was flushed with cold and the lashings of her sodden auburn locks. She squinted, turning around to watch as her team-mates circled their Slytherin opponents, for once struggling to capture the Quaffle. Ginny herself, normally so adept in the air, was struggling to keep her balance in the furious gale.

The Quidditch pitch now seemed to be less turf than a soupy bog, relentlessly pummelled by the driving rain that was robbing the Gryiffindor team of their usual excellence. Ginny was sure that the gloom was prolonging the match; Harry had usually caught the Snitch by now, but as she watched he was slowly lapping the pitch above her head, closely tailed by the opposing Seeker, Draco Malfoy.

Ginny could just about make out the crisp tones of Terry Boot, the current commentator, barely audible above the wind despite the sonorous charm.

"And just to recap, folks, the score is still 30-all, with Slytherin in possession of the Quaffle..."

With a brief burst of speed, Ginny flew forwards to shadow Vaisey, the Chaser with the Quaffle. Almost absently she dodged a Bludger, watching with mild satisfaction as it soared past her and proceeded to hit Urquhart, intent on the Gryffindor goalposts, squarely in the back.

Ginny neatly dived down to catch the large red ball that fell from his ham-like fists. Zigzagging around the other players, she tossed the ball to Katie Bell, then glanced over her shoulder to check on Harry's progress. He was making casual swoops around the pitch, flitting around Rons posts, Draco Malfoy a silvery-green blur above.

A flash of lightning briefly lit the sky, closely followed by a low rumble of thunder. It sounded as though the gods were playing bowling, Ginny thought with half-hearted amusement. She blinked as a bolt of blue-white seared across her eyes. That was very close, she though, listening with awe to the long, grumbling boom of thunder that followed. She smelt something a little like charred wood, felt the searing heat in the air around her as the phosphorescence momentarily blinded her.

That was too close!

And then, before the heavenly drums had finished rumbling, there was a monumental crack!, a sensation of blazing pain...agony, agony, and she was falling...falling...

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Draco Malfoy, notorious pureblood heir and self-styled Slytherin sex-god, was bored. Not just bored, in fact, he was bored, wet, tired, fed-up and just generally miserable. This blasted Quidditch match had already lasted over an hour, and Draco, just getting over a cold, was soaked to the bone and starting to shiver rather violently. He'd almost be glad if Potter caught the Snitch, just so he could get warm and dry. Almost.

Drawing his brows together, he scowled and redoubled his efforts to search for the elusive golden prize.

Damn Potter, anyway.

The storm seemed to intensify as blue-white streaks of lightning split the iron-grey sky, and Draco peered concernedly around the pitch; that thunder was too loud, it sounded as though Thor was waging war directly over the castle.

He heard a loud, sharp sound, akin to the cracking of a whip, or gunfire, and whirled around just in time to be dazzled by a second bolt. He heard a scream, and a shout of joy.

Time seemed to slow own; he watched as the players around him slow to a crawl in the air, Potter leaning down, arm outstretched to take the Snitch from the air before him. But even as the phosphorescence from the lighting made his eyes sting and water, it burned into the back of his skull an image as terrifying as it was vivid.

He knew instinctively that he would never be able to forget this picture - the form of a girl in red and gold robes, falling between two pieces of a broomstick snapped in half, red hair streaming wetly out behind her, head snapped back so that he could see with inescapable clarity the expression of mingled pain and fear on her too-pale face.

As he stared, transfixed, the roaring of the wind in his eardrums seemed to change to a keening sound, a song so pure and joyful that it made his heart ache, and he wept as though lamenting the loss of his mother.

Without knowing what he was doing, responding to some deeply-buried instinct, he urged his Nimbus forwards and dived down, arms outstretched, ready to catch the girl in his sturdy Seeker's arms.

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Ginny awoke to strange sensations. She smelled mud, and cleaning agents, and a spicy, musky smell that she associated with dragonhide. She felt pain. It was not a sharp pain, like the barely remembered heat of the lightning, but a dull, throbbing ache that pervaded her entire body and made her catch her breath in a sob.

Her eyes flew open to stare at a vast sea of pure white.

Am I dead? she wondered. No, she decided, she was not dead. Surely in death she would not feel this way, she would not have this terrible, heart-rending, aching sense of - of loss.

As she sat up, slowly and stiffly, she jerked sideways so violently that she almost fell out of bed, responding to some inner sense of a desperate need to be over there.

Bed! Hospital wing! her mind made the connections quickly - the lightning strike.

But that did not explain the pain in her chest, the tightness, the feeling of an inexorable force pulling her that way.

It was unbearable. She felt as though she would die, she was dying...

She swung her legs away from the crisp white sheets and half-walked, half-staggered towards that something tugging at her, insensible with panic and fear and pain. With each step that she took, the pain seemed to ease, so she carried on, gaining speed as the release from pain gave her greater self-control.

She came to a white curtain not dissimilar to the one surrounding the bed she had just vacated. With an increasing sense of urgency, she yanked the curtains aside and lurched to the bed. Not knowing what she did or why, she climbed in as quickly as she could, heart pounding, head reeling, feeling that she would die if she did not.

All at once the tightness in her chest evaporated and she was all but overcome with a sense of utter contentment - as though something had slid into place, and all that was left was perfection.

Overwhelmed with happiness she closed her eyes, falling into blissful oblivion, arms clutching tightly at the body next to hers.

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Draco had been awake all night. His memories of the evening were a hazy blur, punctuated by flashes of red hair, red Quidditch robes, red blood&

He had caught the girl as she was falling, cradled her in his arms as they drifted to the ground. He had looked at her in her red-gold perfection and known that she was his. Harry Potter had caught the Snitch; he heard muffled cheering. But what was Quidditch next to her? Her heavy breathing. The way her torso moved up and down as she breathed. The dark circles under her eyes. The pale dusting of freckles across her nose.

Then teachers had come, had interfered, had tried to take her away. He had found he could not let go. Did not want to. Carried her to the hospital wing. Laid her on the bed. Held her hands, stroked her hair.

They tried to make him let go. He could not. Snarled at Madam Pomfrey as she tried to prise him away, resentful, hurt, angry. She was his. He could not leave her.

A voice in the back of his mind had told him to let go. That he was being foolish, disgracing the Malfoy name. He should let her go and curl his lip in scorn. But he could not. Eventually, he knew, they had Stunned him. Carried him to another bed, believing that he, too, was suffering from something.

He had woken up with a burning, raging sense of loss. He felt bereft, torn away from reality, spinning in desolation. He fought like a madman, but seemed to be surrounded by an invisible cage. He knew the teachers did not want him near the girl again. The knowledge drove him crazy. He threw himself against the walls of his magical prison, howling his defiance to the world.

Then, he grew quiet, as sorrow overtook him. Sang love ballads in a mournful baritone, wept, called out her name, reached for her.

Eventually, he cried himself to sleep, trying to forget her, unable to forget the physical agony caused by separation.

He awoke to feeling of completion in his heart, his soul, that was so sweet it was almost painful. The pleasure was so great, it almost eclipsed the physical sensation of a soft, warm body throwing itself against him with a glad cry.

As her arms curled around him, he watched her, feeling detached from the world; he felt more a part of her than himself. Watching her sleeping, thought was eclipsed with the knowledge that she was his, and he was hers, and this was truth.

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"Wake up, rise and shine," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully, pulling back the curtain surrounding Ginny Weasley's bed in the hospital wing. The bed was empty. "Oh, dear Merlin," she said with the first cold shivers of panic.

Then, as she whirled around to check the bathroom, she suddenly found that she knew where the Weasley girl would be, and it would not be performing morning ablutions.

Setting her mouth in a grim smile, she headed over to the bed currently occupied by Draco Malfoy.

She roughly pulled the curtain aside, preparing to give the pair a tongue-lashing immediately. Her stern expression softened slightly at the somewhat endearing sight of the two young people, embracing chastely, if rather too close for comfort.

She wondered what had drawn these two together. None of the staff had known of their apparent attachment until the previous night; they seemed the last couple to become lovers, the two children of families with a long history of enmity. But then, she mused, the same could have been said for Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet.

"Time to wake up," she said briskly, reaching down to sake them both vigorously by the shoulders. "Now, I'm going to be lenient this time, but really you two should remain in your own beds for the duration of the night. Further visitations will be punished."

The Weasley girl opened bleary eyes and yawned widely, blinking sleepily. Malfoy snapped open clear grey eyes immediately, sitting up sharply as though he had never been asleep. Madam Pomfrey noticed that they were holding hands.

"What's going on?" demanded the pale boy imperiously. "Why am I in the hospital wing? There's nothing wrong with me. And what is this girl," he looked down at Ginny distastefully, "doing in my bed?"

"Yes, what exactly am I doing here?" Ginny joined in immediately, her tone more reserved. Suddenly she too snapped up into a sitting position, and glared at Malfoy. "You arrogant brute! Did you try to molest me or something?" Her voice was hard with anger.

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied scornfully. "You threw yourself at me, more likely."

Irate, confused, and hardly knowing why, Ginny slapped him across his left cheek with her free hand, not noticing how the other was occupied.

"Ow!" Malfoy cried in astonished outrage, cupping his cheek in his free hand.

At the same time, Ginny recoiled, gasping as she felt a stinging sensation across her left cheekbone.

"Now, now, children! No more fighting, or I'll have to deduct points," reprimanded Madam Pomfrey brusquely . "I need to examine Miss Weasley, so if you would like to and use the bathroom, Mr Malfoy, you can return in a few minutes."

Draco slid out of bed, sliding Ginny a dirty look. As he began to make his way over to the hospital bathroom, he noticed that Ginny was following him.

"Stop following me!" he commanded angrily.

"I can't!" she retorted, just as angry. "You've got my hand!"

"Well, let go then!"

She tried to, envisaged uncurling her fingers and pulling away. "I can't," she said, anger forgotten in concern.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, you let go then."

Draco found that his fingers, too, were strangely reluctant to release the warm hand in his.

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" exclaimed Pomfrey in exasperation. She strode forwards and forcefully pulled the two apart.

Instantly, they bent over, faces contorted, crying out as though in pain. The two hands reached blindly for one another, and as soon as they touched, the pain seemed to leave, and they leant against each other, gasping for breath, faces mirroring each other's shock.

The healer stared at them, biting her lip as a terrible suspicion began to form in her mind. "On second thoughts, maybe not," she murmured.

"What's happening?" demanded Draco, white-faced but still imperious.

"Sit down," said madam Pomfry heavily, pointing to the bed. Still weak from the pain of separation, they did as they were told without question.

"Now. What exactly happened last night? Try to tell me in as much detail as possible."

Ginny and Draco exchanged curious glances.

"I don't remember much," said Ginnt uncertainly. "I was flying, tailing the Slytherin Chaser, Vaisey, and it was stormy. There was a bolt of lightning, too close to me, I think it burned my broomstick. And then...I think there was another one. All I can remember is a bright light and lots of pain."

"What about you, Mr Malfoy?" asked Pomfrey thoughtfully. "Now you be sure to tell me the truth," she added sternly, seeing him raise his arrogant head with a glint in his eye.

Draco sneered sharply. "There was a lightning bolt. It hit the girl's broomstick, seared it in half. She fell, and I was close by, so I caught her...quite a neat piece of flying, if I do say so myself. Not so sure she was worth it."

"Malfoy," warned the Professor, as she caught the wounded expression on Ginny's face. Her face softened as Draco tried to cover up his remorseful look. "Do you...remember anything after that, Mr Malfoy?"

"Not much," he said shortly. "I know I couldn't let her go, I'll be damned if I know why. Clinging to a bloody Weasley, I ask you." His lip curled again.

"Is there nothing else you remember about catching Miss Weasley? Nothing at all?" Madam Pomfrey asked, an intense expression on her face as she leant forwards.

Draco hesitated.

"It could be of vital importance to curing you both!"

"Curing? What do you mean, 'curing'?" demanded Ginny, at he same time as Draco reluctantly started to speak.

"Malfoy first!" the healer commanded.

"Well," he hesitated once more. "I may have imagined it - it was quite a strange few moments - but I thought I heard singing."

"Singing?" repeated Ginny incredulously.

"Yes, dunderhead, singing," replied Draco acidly. "More a sort of keening, actually. Almost like...like the song of the mer-people." He glared at Madam Pomfrey defiantly, as though daring her to disbelieve him.

"Try and let go again."

"I don't want to," said Ginny immediately.

Pomfrey and Draco turned to her in astonishment.

"What?"

The red-head blushed. "I don't know why I said that. It just sort of slipped out."

"Well, it's only to be expected," said Draco casually.

Now it was Ginny's turn to look at him in amazement.

"Well, how often does a Weasley get a chance to lay her hands on something as good as this? I bet she's savouring the experience."

Ginny hit him again, gently, laughing this time, much to her own surprise.

"Focus, please," reprimanded Madam Pomfrey. "I want you to really try this time."

"Ok."

Ginny took a deep breath and tried to steel herself against the pain that she knew would come. She had an irrational desire to keep hold of his hand forever, and a sharp pain seemed to lance through her heart as she thought that he couldn't wait to let go and leave her.

Draco gritted his teeth and tried to fill himself with determination. It didn't really work; he kept on getting distracted by the heady scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her small, delicate hand in his. He suddenly felt protective, did not want to let her go and face the world alone. He stared at her pale face and knew she must be hating every moment of this, counting down the seconds till she could let go. A bruising, aching pain filled his chest like a cloud.

I don't want to let go.

"What was that?"

"What did you say?"

Madam Pomfrey was confused. "What? Neither of you said anything!"

"He did, I heard him!" protested Ginny.

"I didn't say anything, she did!"

They looked at each other blankly.

Madam Pomfrey looked from one to the other. For the first time in her medical career, she was completely at a loss.

"I have to confess, I can't make head nor tail of this," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to go and fetch the Headmaster."

"Dumbledore?" said Draco uneasily. "What for?"

"Never you mind," said Pomfrey firmly. "Just stay here and don't move, both of you, until I get back."

As she left, Ginny turned back to Malfoy and punched him on his free arm, wincing as she felt a sharp stab of pain in her own arm.

"What was that for?" he cried indignantly. "And what is it with you and hitting me?"

"This is all your fault," she told him, frowning crossly. "I don't know how, and I don't particularly want to know, but it is."

"Oh yes," spat Draco bitterly. "Of course it's my bloody fault. It couldn't possibly be anything to do with you, not the perfect, model Gryffindor prefect. Oh no." He gave a short, mocking laugh. "It has to be the mean, nasty Slytherin."

"Oh, piss off, Malfoy," snapped Ginny, too annoyed to think of a decent comeback.

"Love too," said Draco, shaking their joined hands. "But I'm finding it a little tricky at the moment."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Suddenly Ginny brightened.

"I take it we won, then?" she asked, smiling.

Draco blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, if the Slytherin Seeker," she poked Draco with her free hand, "was busy catching one Ginny Weasley, then Harry must have caught the Snitch!"

Draco narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "I guess so..."

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

Draco continued to star at her. "Well...why isn't he here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why isn't Wonder Boy sitting here instead of me? Why did he, the hero," and Draco couldn't stop himself sneering, "head for the Snitch instead of going after you?"

Ginny look at him, wide-eyed. Why indeed? And more to the point, why had the cold, uncaring Draco Malfoy caught her instead of the glittering Golden Snitch?

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Please R&R, it's my first fic! Love ya all!