Six Feet Under
Redheads everywhere… I swear, they multiply faster than rabbits…These were the thoughts of a certain blonde as he stepped carefully around graves and markers, hood pulled down low, and joined the large group of men, women and youths dressed in black.
The voice of the priest remained monotonous throughout the ceremony, and Draco felt his eyelids slowly drooping shut. It was only by pure force of will that he could keep them open wide enough to slowly scan the gathering of people.
His cold grey eyes found their objective: one small figure, standing slightly outside the group, her back stiff and face expressionless, covered by a thin lace veil attached to her flaming hair. A muscle in her cheek twitched as his gaze remained on her, but her eyes did not move from their spot fixated on the elaborately decorated coffin as it was carefully lowered into the earth.
Oh she's cold, he smirked to himself, envisioning the future. Except when she's hot. Wince. Real lame, Draco. Try not using that one to humiliate yourself in public.
One by one, the mourners left. Some dropped a flower or two on the lid before it disappeared. Many of them he recognized from their old school, but it was one in particular that drew his attention; messy black hair, lightning scar, circular glasses – he really needed to discover contacts – and such a sad face. What was in his hand? Draco bent forward for a closer look, only to be disappointed.
Chocolate frog cards?
He shook his head. Weasley obviously had never grown up. Wait, Everyone's Saviour is moving… towards her. Bile rose in his throat as Potter stopped and looked down at his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets – is that supposed to be cute, or something? – and his lips moved, obviously murmuring condolences. When she didn't reply, he looked up, shrugged, and left. Draco relaxed again, leaning against the icy tombstone behind him. He was patient.
They were the only two left, and completely ignored as the grave filled with soil, patted down, and the workers promptly left. She hadn't moved the entire time.
She'd been waiting for him.
Finally, alone. He came up behind her.
"You know, if you still wanted to screw him, it wouldn't be necrophilia."
She still didn't move. "Fuck off, Malfoy."
"No thanks, I'd rather fuck you." His hands traveled underneath her robes to her waist.
She leaned into his touch, and they both stepped closer to the fresh grave. "Hmm… I think I'm prepared to make that sacrifice," she purred.
"My lord will be pleased," he remarked off-handedly, his voice muffled slightly as his lips moved to her white neck.
"Good."
Silence.
Except for a small noise…
The two stood contentedly, bodies melding together, the wind whipping their cloaks about them in a black cloud. The wind carried with it a high-pitched whine, and they looked down.
Thud. Thumping can be faintly heard, only by those searching for it.
Ginny sighed and turned to face him, her lips pressing against his lightly. "One down. " Her smirk was chillingly identical to his own.
And six feet below, someone was screaming and pounding on his coffin lid.
- - -
A/N: Yes, Ginny and Draco are lovers and Death Eaters, and Ron was buried alive. As I said before, I don't know what brought this on, but I think I actually kinda like it…