She thinks it funny, the way he pretends to be this scary, powerful death eater, when inside he's just as terrified as the rest of them. He hides behind his smirk, the mask of indifference he has carefully created over all these years is impenetrable, but inside he's quaking.
His hand trembles as he holds his wand in front of him, his spells miss their mark more often than not, but its kill or be killed, no matter which side he goes to. So he carries on, looking behind him, around corners, anywhere but at his feet, where the bodies of those killed litter the floor.
She watches from behind a tapestry, the heavy fabric nearly suffocating her. She's watching, observing, ready to strike as soon as he's near enough. She knows all of his weaknesses, she's watched him, known him for long enough to know exactly what to say, exactly where to aim, to cause the maximum possible pain.
Because he may be acting under duress, but its kill or be killed, so she needs to grit her teeth and get on with it.
She slips out from behind the painting, as he passes, following at a distance, wand pulled out and pointed at his back. He senses the movement and turns around, his face drooping into a frown as he sees who it is that is following him.
"Ginny," he says tonelessly, it's not a plea, he's not mocking her, he's just observing.
"Draco," she whispers, tears coursing tracks down her cheeks, the knowledge of what she has to do weighing heavily on her.
He smiles slightly at her, not even bothering to raise his wand, not bothering to put up a fight. She raises her wand, and mouths something at him.
"I understand," he whispers, the words catching in his throat, the tears now running freely down his face. Outside the sky is lightening, but inside the shadows are flickering around the both of them, neither of them able to see the others face.
Ginny points her wand straight at his heart, the words catching in her throat. She can feel her heart shattering, the tears are burning her face, but she has to do this, she has to. The red light reverberates around the narrow corridor, his body slumping to the floor.
The sun comes out, the golden light sparkling through the windows, casting rainbows over the prone form of the stunned boy on the floor.
Ginny runs from the corridor, her heart telling her she did the right thing, her head telling her she was being cowardly – she had killed plenty of others, so why can't she kill him?
Many years later, they will meet again at a train station; he will nod at her, a silent thanks for her mercy that night, the mercy she didn't need to show to a death eater; especially not to one who had broken her heart.
They will never meet again after that, he will go back to his cold, dark mansion, and she will go back to her house of green eyes and Weasley hair. Neither of them will ever be truly happy, but neither of them will acknowledge what is missing in their lives.
After all, what was there ever between them, except a stupid mistake, made in the heat of a war?