A/N: I apologize for any OOCness on the part of Ginny, this is my first real attempt at writing her.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Of Loss and Gain
He sat in a windowsill by a staircase outside of the Great Hall, looking out at the grounds. He could hear the cries and the screams emanating from the room, and the animal like cries of grief tore at him. To think that he had a hand in this, that he had waited and hoped and prayed for this battle…if only he had known.
All of those lessons he'd been taught by his parents, all the things that he'd been told, none of them held up. He had watched mudbloods and blood-traitors fight better than some of the wizards on his side. And he had watched as the boy he'd sworn to hate had won against the man he'd sworn to follow.
Now it was all lost. All of his hopes and dreams.
He pulled haphazardly at his sleeve, pushing it up his arm to reveal the mark that had been so painfully placed there. Hot tears stung his eyes as he stared at it, blurring his vision and dripping down onto his skin. He wiped them angrily away and pulled his sleeve back down, clutching it over his forearm and returning his gaze to the view from the window.
Soft footsteps echoed across the hall, but he tuned them out, focusing instead on his anger and frustration. It wasn't until the hand fell on his shoulder that he realized where those footsteps had been going. He turned his head; craning his neck to see who it was that stood beside him, and his eyes caught those of Ginny Weasley.
"What do you want," he spat; she shook her head and sat down on the steps below him. Her hand, however, never left him. She let it travel down his arm until it came to rest on his forearm, on his mark. He flinched at her touch, but did not pull away, only averted his gaze to the window once more.
"You're parents are looking for you," she said softly.
"They sent you?" he asked, never turning his gaze from the window. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shake her head and her grip on his arm tightened slightly then loosened once again. "Then why are you here?" he posed. She sighed audibly and leaned her head back against the stone wall.
"I needed to get out of there," she said, tilting her head towards the hall. "Mum and Dad are so torn up; I can hardly look at them." He lowered his gaze and carefully slipped his arm away from her touch.
"But you can stand to look at me?" he asked, toying with the hem of his robes. He felt her shift, leaning closer to him, and her hand carefully cupped his cheek and turned his gaze to hers.
"Why wouldn't I? Because you listened to your parents?" she countered. "Because you believed that the people who raised you, who loved you, were right?" she shook her head. "No, Draco, we're all guilty of that." He stared at her, even after he hand had fallen back to her lap, and shook his head in disbelief.
"I wanted this," he said, gesturing to the mess that filled the hall. "I wanted him to win." Her eyes were dark and sad, and he wanted to turn away, but he forced his gaze to remain on her, knowing his pain could never match hers.
Her hand once again settled on his arm, further down, closer to his palm. Her skin brushed his and a shiver ran through him, and the tears again burned at his eyes. He ducked his head, trying to pull his hand away, but she merely tightened her grip.
"We all lost something," she said, quietly. "A lot of people died. But you, Draco, you lost everything you believed in."
"That doesn't make it any better," he replied through clenched teeth.
"No," she said, squeezing his hand. "It makes it worse." He looked up at her, at the kindness that mingled with the sorrow in her eyes. "Everything you built your life on, everything you hoped to achieve, you watched it crash down around you." He blinked, doing nothing to hide his confusion.
"You lost your brother," he said. "What I've lost…is nothing, compared to that. Compared to what I've done." She leaned closer to him, looking up into his eyes and smiling sadly.
"We all lost something," she said. "That doesn't mean we have to give up."
He lifted his hand slowly, gazing down at her. He cupped her cheek and lowered his head, dipping his lips closer and closer to hers, but the moment before they touched she turned away. He followed her gaze to the bottom of the stairs, but found no one watching. A flush of embarrassment rose to his cheeks and he quickly returned his attention to the window. He heard her stand, but he did not look at her.
"It isn't about what we lost," she said. "It's about what we've gained."
Those words dug deep into his mind, stinging him as he listened to her footsteps descend the stairs and disappear into the cacophony of the Great Hall.
What we've gained.