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Summary: They met here, in the garden, everyday, at midnight, under the moon. A tryst between two people that were never meant to be. DracoGinny
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The Garden
By soul release
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They met here, in the garden, everyday, at midnight.
It was an unspoken tradition, a vow between lovers, a way to tryst together under the night sky without anyone knowing, seeing.
They didn't know how they fell in love with each other when they were so different, but their world had been built of magic, so maybe, they deemed, it was magic that committed the crime. And something beyond their understanding.
Perhaps it was the electricity that exhilarated their bodies through their kisses – peck or full throttle snogging – or the fact that even through a crowd, all she sees is him, that annoying smirk and all. Or the fact that he had learned to love her despite all the barriers placed before him. Maybe it was a work of fate.
Neither knew.
Fulfilling the passion that had left them breathless was impossible, they had thought; she had her brothers who would pummel him into pulp if they knew of the affair behind their gazes at dinner time, lunchtime, and likewise, and parents who wouldn't accept the fact that she had fallen for him. He had a reputation to live up to, a father to please and obey, an honor to be kept, and a Pansy Parkinson, pug faced and sickeningly sweet lip gloss and all, on his tail.
But then –
We'll meet in garden, at midnight, everyday, she whispered to him as they passed through the hallways, pretending not to see – the hauntingly elegant gray eyes, the gleam of blond and silver, the thrill to touch his cheek. They were good at this – this game of pretending, this masquerade amidst the throng of the crowd, the conversations in the corridors.
He silently agreed through his eyes, no smile – only his signature smirk – it should be copyrighted, she had once thought darkly, the way he wears it. She gazed into them for a second, and understood wordlessly before pretending to be interested in her companions' chatter on magical hairsprays and self-painting nail polish that was available in sixteen different shades. There was no need for words – no need to speak – as both of them hurried off to their classes, not looking back to catch a glimpse of each other.
It wasn't meant to be this way.
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And so they met there, everyday, at midnight, in the garden – a nightly rendezvous between two unlikely lovers.
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It was a beautiful, breathtaking place to meet – perfectly romantic, she was had said to him one night, though he never believed in such rubbish. His parents never spouted love poetry or endearments to each other anyway, so he always mocked her hopeless romantic nature, before being tied down by a string of consecutive "shut up's." Lilies-of-the-valley, roses of a rainbow of colors, crocuses, poppies, lilies, snowdrops, and tulips lined the pathways, shadowed by the trees that glowed in the radiance of the naked moon.
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She kissed him, lightly, on the lips.
It still surprised him when she kissed him so coquettishly and poignantly like this. He had never dreamed that this would happen; she was always so naïve and innocent and childlike and untainted and chaste. Perhaps he was changing her, forcing her to shed her adorning coltish nature, her sweet ignorance.
He liked her kisses; they were sweet and gentle, always undemanding and never complicated, questionable.
He placed his arms around her and held her there, and no more words were needed to be said. They never really spoke much when like this - only when they were caught in a row or a smart exchange of sarcastic commentary and scathing remarks. He kissed her more strongly than before, and smiled against her lips when he felt her hands gently tug his hair, the other hand touching his cheek, softly, uncertainly, searchingly.
I can't believe I'm going out with a Malfoy. She laughed after they drew apart.
What's that supposed to say?
Oh, nothing. I'm just not sure how I ended up falling for an arrogant prick.
He sputtered indignantly.
You know this will end someday, she whispered after a while, a thought that had been haunting her for the past few months.
Worry less, dear; we still have tonight, and tomorrow night, and … he rambled on for the next five minutes until she told him to shut up.
In the garden, at midnight, everyday.
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It ended at the leaving of June.
Their goodbyes were not bittersweet, nor were they sweet. They were – quite accurately – exceptionally bitter.
They knew that this was the last night they would be together like this because once he left, their differences would overcome them. She was a Weasley, daughter of a Muggle-loving father, whose family strongly opposed the Dark forces and whose friends and brothers were his nemesis and viewed him as foil, dirt, filth; he was a Malfoy, a pureblood, a Slytherin, born of a house filled with Dark wizards, despiser of Muggle-borns.
She did not talk much that night, and neither did he – quite unusual since they always ended up quarreling every time they met, though he knew what she was thinking, partly because he felt it too. He could always read her so easily; she was never, to him, unfathomable. They lingered amongst the thick groves of trees, through the place where dashes of different, vibrant hues glowed in the pale moonlight. He also knew that she was on the verge of tears, but was struggling to hold them in. She didn't like showing weakness like this.
Thank heavens, he thought silently – he wasn't good dealing with crying girls, never mind a crying Ginny Weasley.
You know this is the end, right? No more rendezvous. She spoke after what seemed like eternity.
Yes. He answered quietly without showing a trace of emotion. She did not mind. She knew he didn't know how.
Promise me that you'll meet me here in the garden, every year, this day, no matter where we go, or who we end up with.
He stared at her. Alright.
She didn't say anything more that night until dawn broke out. The sun illuminated the skies and basked the garden in ethereal light; his hands, for the first time, felt awkward as they caught hers clumsily, her fingers warm and delicate, and held her in his arms. He knew, with bitterness and longing, that this would be the last time he would be able to hold her like this, and kisses the softness of her hair before walking away slowly, hand still caressing the lock of red hair as if not wanting to let go.
I love you. He stated simply, though not sentimentally, looking over his shoulder.
She stared at him, not expecting this. She had never expected him to say such a thing, though she knew he did love her more than one needed to be. He was never the romantic sort, never the type to admit feelings so openly. Her lips slowly blossomed into a smile, like the sun rising over the horizon, eyes glistened with tears that desperately want to escape but cannot, and she walked towards him, just one more time, just to hold him before it all fades away as spring dies and summer rebirths.
Love you, too. She said and kissed him on the cold cheek of his, fingers pressed against each other.
But goodbye.
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They still met here, years later, on the same day, every year, in the garden.
There was this buried regret in them; they knew it was folly, useless to wish the impossible dream they had thought of as youths, to be together, and have their own happily-ever-after like those foolish fairy tales he'd heard of and she'd read as a child, and knew that they had to move on; it was useless to dwell on the memories that would never piece together the tomorrows over the horizon.
It wasn't meant to be.
Years passed, and they drifted apart – she to the outskirts of London, he in the same manor as before; she eventually married (to Harry, The Boy Who Was Not Worthy Of A Girl Like Ginny) a bore a child – named Lily, if you must know, though he did not. He often claimed that he had hordes, armies of female species chasing after him – the "Malfoy" charm, he claimed – though she would laugh him off and mock him about his nonexistent humbleness.
But still each year, as spring faded and summer revisited the earth, they met and held each other and forgot that it wasn't meant to be this way.
In the garden.
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Got this idea from "His Dark Materials: The Amber Spyglass" – the last chapter "The Botanic Garden."
A bit too sappy to be a Ginny/Draco, but oh well.
Please read and review =) and CC
- soul release