Poison and Wine
Content Notes: Depiction of (cycles of) abuse, possible PTSD, and sleep disorders; reference to attempted suicide; and brief allusion to family dysfunction.
Disclaimer: The words are mine, but the Harry Potter universe and its characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, et al.
"I'm sorry," Draco says. There is a tremor in his voice and on his lips as he presses them to the inside of her bruised wrist. "I'm sorry, Ginevra. I never meant to; it was another nightmare." She doesn't need him to say it and wishes he wouldn't, but she knows better than to ask. She lets him apologize, just as she lets him put his hands on her in the dark of their bedroom and lets him tend to her hurts in the predawn light. First, with his mouth and then, with a spell. It's always the same one—always erases the evidence of injury, but not the ache of it—and she realizes long before he tells her that his father used to use it on his mother. It's already hard enough for Draco to live with the memory of Lucius between them, so Ginny pretends the pain is gone with the discolouration. She likes the lingering reminder enough that she's almost forgotten it's a lie. He murmurs, "I...I think we should sleep apart again." He inhales as her head falls forward against his chest and she feels the breath he exhales against her nape. "You should ward your door shut."
She knows there'd be a catch in his voice if his control were a little less rigid—if he'd been anything but Lucius Malfoy's son, for better or worse—but she cannot keep the catch from hers. She does not try to: she is a Weasley, not a Malfoy, whatever her marriage certificate might say to the contrary. "No. Just. No. You're my husband, not my enemy." Not now, she can almost hear him think as he brushes a thumb across her fragile pulse, watching her for a reaction she will not give. "You hurt yourself when you try to get in," she reminds him. "And I'm not nearly as good at healing spells as you are. Please, I need you with me at night. I need to know you're safe, Draco." She hears him scoff above her, but she doesn't expect him to understand. She nonetheless tries to explain. "It's easier for you to hurt yourself than me." It means, of course, that he never does if he can get to her. He sees it as an argument for their separation, but Ginny has always seen it as proof that he loves her more than he loves himself. He thinks she's deluded and thinks he's responsible. He's told her before that he wouldn't have married her if he'd spent the night with her first—and not because he believes in sex after marriage; however, he does believe that marriage is forever. Her biggest fear is that he'll try to end his life. Her only consolation is that there's no heir yet.
Her family would think she's mad if they knew. They think she's mad already. She could've had Harry: he'd proposed—promised to love, cherish, and protect her—and she'd picked Draco instead, though he can't even promise not to hurt her between one night and the next. Her brothers offered to stage an intervention for less and some nights, she wishes she'd let them. She's only human, after all and she remembers too well when she couldn't trust herself, but she trusts Draco. She knows she can and she knows it could kill her. "I'm too much of a coward. I've never done more than bruise my fists; I-I may remember nothing else about that night, but you had my handprints on your throat. If you won't sleep apart from me, then you—we should seriously consider divorce." No amount of training could keep the catch from his voice.
"You had rope," she blurts, though it's hardly the best answer. They've had the argument before and Ginevra knows better than to focus on his attempted suicide, but she didn't think. She couldn't think when he'd proposed the end to their life together in the same way he'd proposed the beginning of it.
"It was an empty threat."
"You remember?" she asks more sharply than she meant to. She knows the answer-knows not even he could brush it off as manipulative melodrama if he remembered that night. "You would've done it, Draco."
"It doesn't matter."
"It's been a year since then. Doesn't your progress matter? Isn't it enough to spare our marriage?"
"Maybe, but our sleeping arrangements will have to change." It will start with their sleeping arrangements, perhaps, but it will escalate as quickly as their relationship did.
"In six months, I'll have the divorce papers," she finishes before he knows how he means to go on. "I know you, Draco. Whatever you might do or be afraid of doing, I'd still choose you." She pretends she doesn't feel his tears on her scalp or hear the hitch of a sob in his throat; she pretends it doesn't hurt when her hair gets caught on his signet ring; she pretends one day, he'll be able to love her like he wants to. She pretends for his sake more than hers because, "I always will." She thinks that's probably his biggest fear of all—bigger even than the fear that he'll never be a good husband, a good father, a good person; his biggest fear is that she'll be there to see.
Author's Notes: Thank you for reading. I'm indebted to the Civil Wars' "Poison and Wine" for the title and the last line of dialogue and to my friend Becca for her encouragement while I reconciled myself to the unexpected dynamic between Draco and Ginny. I know the fic is still far from perfect, but I hope to improve it with your comments and constructive criticism and at some point, to publish the prequel/companion fic I started long before I thought of this one :3.