Disclaimer: I own solely the weak plot of this one-shot. Title and lyrics belong to the wonderful band Murder by Death.
edward.marie:
End of the Line
There's a girl with a flower pot
Full of dirt and bullet shells
She puts it by her window,
Gives it sunlight, restores its health
After a month or two,
The shells start to grow
Into branches of barbed wire
They spread across the walls,
The windows, and the floors
And their grip never tires...
Her cheeks were tinged with passion. Her deep, flaming auburn tendrils coiled around her face and his long, pale fingers pushed back their unruliness as his assaulted those tempting pink lips. She moaned against his mouth, fingers twining into his silvery-blonde hair and pushing him to deepen the kiss.
"Draco..." she all but whimpered.
They made love there, in that abandoned classroom. It wasn't the first time. And just like each time before that, ever since the beginning, he had made it worthwhile. Slipped her a note nonchalantly while they passed in the hallways. The regular classroom at 9. Don't eat dinner.
When she had arrived, the place was charmed, draped in silver and black silk cloth hanging from the ceiling, high windows recklessly opened wide, the moon shining brightly behind a few lone, wispy clouds. A warming charm, of course, so the chill night air wouldn't pose a problem. White lilies everywhere; candles; red wine. The works. Only the best for you, Ginny.
She remembered the first time she had meandered there. Mostly out of curiosity, looking back. After beating him in a highly competitive Quidditch match, stealing the Snitch right out from under his nose...that's when he had noticed her. Really noticed her.
At the time, the only thought on her mind was, I can't wait to tell Harry I actually beat Slytherin!
But within the course of a few hours, Harry would the very last thing on her mind for a long, long time.
The first time, there was no note. She was never one for big crowds, so after changing and accepting a few congratulations from the team, she had quickly exited onto the grounds, taking the long way around the castle and eventually back to the Gryffindor common room. Besides, she had always enjoyed a solitary walk now and again.
But not thirty seconds after her departure from the Quidditch changing rooms, not thirty seconds of wistful sighing and brief early dusk star-gazing, and she was affronted by him.
"Bit cold to be out on your own, little Weasley," he had said, silky smooth.
She didn't have time to react, barely had time to register who was speaking to her. He was in front of her in two strides of his long legs, and half a second later she was up against the wall, enveloped in him. All she could hear, smell, see, feel was Draco Malfoy.
They were nose to nose. Imperceptively close. They couldn't have been any closer.
But she didn't push him away. He had taken ahold of her senses and they hadn't even kissed yet. Suddenly, it was as though someone else had picked up the controls to her vocal chords and was speaking for her. She was sure, looking back, that she had been possessed. She was sure of it.
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to keep me warm, then, Malfoy?" she asked, just as silky smooth back.
He smirked. He wasn't surprised. She supposed it was because, after all, she had proven her worth by beating him less than an hour earlier. He just smirked, and then kissed her.
Michael Corner? Dean Thomas? Who are they? I don't know anyone by those names. Draco Malfoy? You mean the lad that kisses like Merlin's gift to women? The one with the Greek god, marble-esque body? Oh sure, I know him. Just in passing. Passing out, that is.
Which is what Ginny almost did; passed out. Not from fear, or shock. From want. From desire.
So before she could tell her mind otherwise, she kissed him back. And from there, it had spiralled downwards. They had made love there, on the lawn, right outside of the Quidditch changing rooms.
"You don't know what you do to me, Ginny," he had told her afterwards, softly kissing her neck and casting a warming charm over them, then covering her with his robe for added precaution. It was the first time he had called her by her name--her first name, anyway.
Of course, her initial response was that she was going to be cast away. That she was a whore, and nothing more than that. This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about here, lest you've forgotten.
No. Instead, he had picked her up--carried her to the Gryffindor portrait of the Fat Lady, kissed her hand most chauvinistically, and slipped a piece of paper into it before striding off without a word, and without letting her get a word in edgewise. Edgewise of the silence, if that makes any sense. Lord, she didn't think she'd've been able to talk even if she wanted to.
So, she got that first note. The old Potions room at 9. Don't eat dinner.
Naturally, she went. Out of curiosity, remember? And it had progressed, throughout the seven months they'd been at school thus far. Draco had gotten more and more open with her as time progressed. He was very prone to "pillow talk," as it was called. Oftentimes, she wanted nothing better than to lie her head down and sleep the day blissfully away. But every time, he would kiss her awake again and tell her things.
Tell her about how he used to be so envious of The Boy Who Lived. Tell her about his mother, and about how her favourite flower was also the white lily. "Just like you, little Ginny."
He'd tell her about the Malfoy Manor, and all the rooms filled with beautiful oil paintings. He'd tell her about his personal library, full of classic literature like Shakespeare and philosophy like Voltaire and Rousseau, hidden from his father with clever transfiguration charms. He'd describe the ancient marble in the floors, or how every hallway and alcove had a story, and if you listened hard enough sometimes they'd tell you.
He'd promise to take her there one day, when the mess with Voldemort and the war was over. He'd promise to lavish her with expensive French dresses and gold and diamond jewelery. Only the best for you, Ginny.
Of course, she knew none of it was true. She knew that would never happen. It was so completely unrealistic. But she'd let him talk anyway. She figured if it made him feel better, it wasn't hurting anyone. If it could take his mind off of reality for a while--off of his impending responsibilities--then let him talk. It was just talk.
He tore himself away from her, painfully. "Ginny," he whispered, "I need to tell you something."
She appraised him with glazed, lidded eyes, heavy with lust. "What is it, Draco?" she asked. She was so naive sometimes, even still. Even after her first year, and the diary, and Tom Riddle and the Chamber. She could still be so naive.
His hands came up and gently grasped her around the top of her neck, where it met her jawline. His thumbs caressed the depths of her cheeks, directly in front of her ears. He kissed her forehead softly.
She blinked, her eyes slowly returning to a normal state. "Draco?" she said, barely audible. "What is it?" she repeated, becoming slightly worried.
He smiled at her. "Don't worry. It's nothing to worry about," he said.
She smiled back. "You don't smile enough, Draco. I love it when you smile," she replied, blushing a little and casting her eyes down in slight embarassment at her boldness with him.
His nose nuzzled her cheek and he whispered in her ear, "I know, Ginny. I smile just for you. Do you know why?"
He pulled back, looking her squarely in the eyes. "Why, Draco?" she said, trembling ever-so-slightly with apprehension. He couldn't...
"Because I love you, Ginny."
"...You love me?" she whispered, lips hardly moving.
His eyes flashed momentarily with what looked like panic. Had he done the wrong thing? "I...I'm sorry, Ginny. It's too soon. I shouldn't have...I'm sorry. Forget it. I'm sorry." he mumbled, words bunching together in a rush.
She stared at him in awe. "You love me?" she whispered again, her fingers reaching up to lightly brush his lips.
He stilled under her touch. His eyes were still alight with anxiety.
"Draco...I think I love you too."
And then, because he could, he smiled. He smiled, and he kissed her again. He kissed her over and over and over, in all his favourite places: where the top of her ear and her cheek met, where the crook of her jaw and her neck met, in the center of her collarbones, on her chin, left of the middle, her forehead, and finally, his most favourite place; her lips.
It was the Tuesday of the last week of school, more precisely, it was the last day of school, and also the day of graduation. He was going to be gone next year.
"Draco...what are we going to do? About us?" she asked tentatively.
His eyes bore a pained expression. The war hadn't been fought yet. His father still posed a problem; as long as he was alive, Draco was under his dictation. He couldn't take her back to the Manor with the Dark Lord still alive, much less Lucius.
"You need to finish school," he said finally. "After that...Well, we'll worry about us after that. But I'll come visit you here. My father will send me, I'm sure. I'll have so much free time on my hands...I'll visit you every weekend. I'll bring you a new gift each weekend and I'll take you to Hogsmeade...I'll even meet your parents over the Christmas holidays, if you'll have me," he said, almost sheepishly.
She smiled sadly. "You're right. I need to finish school. Then...then we can get a place of our own, right? We can live together...and...be happy," she said.
He smiled just as sadly back. "Right." he said. "But for now...we can't do any of that if I don't graduate," he said coyly, smirking at her and kissing her once more. They had met in the old Potions classroom on the second floor, as usual, but this time during late morning instead of late night.
She nodded, still smiling sadly. "Of course. It's hard to keep my mind on important matters when I'm with you," she said, kissing him once more, very chastely on the cheek. "C'mon, we don't want to be late," she said, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the classroom.
They kissed once more; a goodbye kiss, right outside of the classroom door. "I'm going to miss you, Draco," she whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. His arms were protectively around her waist and he squeezed her as she spoke.
"Don't ever forget, Ginny," he whispered back, pulling away and starting to leave, "I'll always love you."
"Damnit, Draco..." she said to herself as he retreated for the Great Hall. Her hand slid unceremoniously up the side of her face, fingers tightly clenching her hair in weak frustration as she allowed the tears free access to the flushed skin on her cheeks. She slumped against the nearby wall, sliding all the way down till she reached the floor, the tears on her face streaming down to her chin, then dripping off into the fabric of her skirt. She choked back a sob, covering her face in her hands, lips trembling.
She would never be with Draco, and they both knew it. She would never see him again. Even if Voldemort was defeated, Lucius killed...even if her parents accepted Draco...he was already a Death Eater. He had the Mark. He was forced into it, but he had it. He would be forever prosecuted, forever hounded. His loathing for Harry Potter would forever be his burden, his downfall. He couldn't bring himself to work as a spy for Dumbledore, to be an ally to Harry Potter. His pride wouldn't let him. And so, they would never be.
And Ginny couldn't leave her family behind. That was asking too much, and Draco knew it. They couldn't run away together like it was a fairy tale. They couldn't live happily ever after.
Draco strode purposefully towards the Great Hall, and if anyone had really cared to look, they would have noticed a single tear slide down his composed and aristocratic features. He quickly wiped it away, turning through the doorway and taking his designated seat as Dumbledore began the graduation speech.