..:O |broken| O:..
Kamikaze airplanes in the sky,
are we going down or will we fly?
This could be a shipwreck on the shore,
or we could sail away forevermore -
Sink or Swim: Tyrone Wells
You always did love to keep things systematic. Everything had its place, from concrete objects such as a rubber pencil to abstract emotions you folded neatly and placed in a box.
"Ginny," Ron called, chasing you across moonlit hills and sparkling valleys (or at least they twinkled in your eyes.)
He was bigger-stronger-faster (make your choice) and eventually threw his arms around your waist and spun you around like a top. You squealed as though he were making you the happiest girl alive but you didn't like spinning.
When you were spinning all the emotions you packed tightly came bursting open and spilling across your thoughts like a whirlwind. And that was horrible because then you had to chase (to-and-fro) your thoughts around and collect them once more so that you could be in control.
"I love you," your father whispered into your ginger hair, stroking your cheek.
You smiled at him to keep him busy - because everyone said a smile spoke a more than anything else - and sifted through your box to find the emotion labled "affection."
When you released "affection" streamers swirled through the air and glittering specks danced in front of your eyes and you remembered giggles erupting from a unicorn's mouth as it carried you off into the sunset (at least in your imagination.)
"I love you too."
You liked Hermione.
Hermione pored over books and ignored the pompous boys looking for attention and kept all of her thoughts centered on the world of literature, of facts.
She was just like you, in a way (except she was just a scholar and you were something much more controlling.)
Harry reminded you, in an irritating sort of way, of a sap.
He moaned over being the Chosen One, fought over making choices, and seemed always to be fearful of something.
You were much more powerful than him, being able to control your emotions and choose the appropriate time to release pent up frustration (but sometimes - no, never - Harry made you want to change.)
Draco Malfoy cornered you in the hallway one afternoon and called you heartless.
You watched him go and there was nothing burning in your eyes because you were so much better at hiding your thoughts - at least you were in control of yourself, unlike any of them.
(A tiny part of you wondered if he was right, if you even had a heart.)
You kissed Harry to determine if you had emotions; perhaps there was a flickering sort of thought, of care, somewhere deep inside you, just waiting to claw itself out.
There were sparks - which you falsely determined must be love - so you must have a heart.
"I love you," he told you some months later when the snow was carpeting the ground like millions of tiny shredded pieces of paper with broken dreams written on them, just waiting to be tossed in the air and drift far, far away.
A pause. You pulled him close, sifting through your tightly sealed box until you discovered "love," or whatever was left of it.
You kissed him instead (so you wouldn't have to say the words back.)
"We're leaving," Hermione said and you imagined dragon's horns peeking through her bushy brown hair, mimicking that horrid statement."
"Why?" Your box was leaking, spilling a droplet of worry onto the floor where it oozed like the traitor it was.
"Harry wants to find - Voldemort's - horcruxes and Ron and I decided to join him." Hermione hesitated as she spoke the Dark Lord's name.
You felt your fingers curl into fists and your breathing quicken and you wanted to smash her skull in and watch the crimson blood spread across the tiled floor until you could only see the reflection of Death in it. You wanted to scream that you cared about them too much to just let them leave.
But instead you locked your heart in a box and experienced blissful control once more.
"Okay."
"I'll miss you," Ron said as he pulled you into a tight hug.
You hated his smell - his touch burned like fire and only reminded you that you weren't good enough to go with them (or at least not good enough for Harry Saint Potter) - and you loathed the fact that your brother was this easily swayed by Harry.
Didn't you mean anything to your brother?
(Apparently not, because if you did then he would be staying here with you instead of leaving you all alone.)
Unlocking a tight smile you looked up at his - for once - serious eyes, the eyes you had grown up seeing filled with mirth, "Don't let them kill you, Ron."
Then you walked away, carrying with you a tattered cloth of bandaged wrath and hurt you refused to acknoledge.
Harry never came to tell you goodbye.
He just left, expecting you to moon after him in his absence (because you'd always obsessed over him so this shouldn't be any different.)
You gave up on him - but you'd never tell him that because that would ruin the game.
"Why so glum, Weasley?" A familiar voice drawled.
You itched to grab the falling snow in your hands and fling it at the blonde trespasser but instead you wrapped your venemous thoughts in silk and stored them away in your box - it made you superior, even to a Malfoy.
"Aren't you even going to bother answering?" He continued taunting. "Didn't your mum teach you better, seeing as you're stuck in that ragged state of yours?"
"I am a pureblood," you answered calmly, ceasing his mocking laughter. "Now go away."
He leaned up against the stone wall beside you, straightening his blonde hair to perfection, "Are you going to tell me why you insist on staring at the lake as if you were about to fire a killing spell at it?"
Oh he irked you. "I'm considering it." Your control slipped for the merest second, displaying how truly angry and helpless you really felt behind the carefree mask.
He didn't ask you if you were okay, even when the burning tears slipped down your cheeks, and that gesture alone made you appreciate his presence, no matter how much of a sodden toad he may be.
You flooed home to gather your things - you had decided to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because you couldn't bear being anywhere else.
"You've changed, Ginny," your father said as he held you close, stroking your (stupid, boring) straight, red hair. "What happened?"
For a moment you considered telling him everything but the box containing your heart reminded you that this control was for the best, that it would help you win the game (whatever the game may be) in the end.
"I'm fine."
"I don't see why you bother slipping into such a state over Potter," Draco hissed as you studied in the library (or at least pretended to study, for you were far too busy contemplating the meaning of life.)
"This isn't about Harry." You said nothing else because your heart wouldn't allow it - you were far too vulnerable now and you couldn't fix giving into the pressure of telling the truth.
Malfoy understood immediately that it wasn't about his arch nemesis, "Why then?"
You smirked up at him, your smirk a little too close to his, "Wouldn't you like to know."
He glared at you, his piercing silver eyes probing you for answers you would never dare release - even he wasn't powerful enough to break you...nobody was.
"You seem upset," Luna commented as you played wizard's chess with her in the Gryffindor common room.
You nearly panicked - because you feared your control was slipped and you couldn't lose - but quickly regained momentum when you realized that Luna was simply unusually perceptive.
"My brother is out fighting dark wizards." It was the truth and this way you could share some of the pain.
"Ah." She looked at you. "Would you care for a slice of carrot cake filled with chocolate pudding?"
"What?" You looked at her like she was loopy, struggling not to laugh.
"I find that carrot cake filled with chocolate pudding is a remedy to almost any situation," Luna answered, humming in that serene way of hers.
And with that you burst out in a fit of snorts and giggles, unable to contain the joy that sprung from your sealed box - this was wrong, it was improper, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.
Luna left the next day and never made it home.
You didn't cry for your friend's absence, only busied yourself staring at a way until your brain fizzed with unwanted energy - it was as if your body wanted you to lose, wanted you to be normal again.
"I am normal!" You screamed into the common room, your chestnut eyes gleaming with tears you would not shed. "I will win, no matter what it takes!"
A familiar Slytherin perched around the corner and heard every word - he knew you were falling apart.
"Who is that from?" Draco asked you several days later, on Christmas Eve, motioning to a faded letter.
You tore it open - your mind beat you up for your impatience and demanded that you slow down and be reasonable - and saw the scrawled handwriting and ripped it up, the words Dearest Ginny etched into your brain.
"Damn Potter," your blonde haired accomplice grunted under his breath.
You could only smile at his statement, the long-rusted desire to defend your Harry filtering down the drain into the fog-swept night.
The sunshine broke through one day, reminding you of the hope in this world - because when your heart is in a box you can't appreciate the good times.
"Come out," you called towards him. He stood, clothed in shadows by the school's entrance, his shoulders tense and expression disdaintful as any Malfoy's should be.
"You look ridiculous," he answered in a drawling tone, waiting for your boiling response.
It never came. You had already apparated to the other side of the grounds to get away from his mocking expression - he threatened to destroy everything you'd built up with that piercing glance into your frozen soul, came close to melting the lock on your box.
He kissed you.
You were just staring at each other in the safety of the Slytherin common room and he looked at you, "There's something different about you. I can't seem to place it."
Taking the key to your box you double locked your emotions far, far away from this blonde haired tempter because you couldn't lose - it wasn't that you didn't care, because you cared far too much for your own good. You were tired of caring.
"People change," you said, fiddling with your fingers.
Soft lips molded with yours, catching you completely off guard and for a moment you lost all control - your emotions sprinted in all directions, pulling your heart to race at a million miles an hour. He tasted like sin - exactly what you thought he would taste like because of the things he'd done - and you should have pulled away the second he tried to kiss you but you were tired of not caring (and that thought frightened you because Malfoy couldn't make you feel again, not him, not anybody.)
Seconds later he pulled back and you choked on a sigh, your face more open than it had been in months - he almost made you lose and that was his fatal mistake.
Getting up, you left the common room and Hogwarts without a second glance, all because he made you feel.
You got home and hugged your parents because you had to, ate until your stomach hurt because you had to, smiled and laughed because you had to. If you didn't follow along then your mother and father would suspect something was wrong and you would lose.
But the worst part of it was that you actually smiled and laughed, actually wanted to eat - you couldn't feel numb anymore and under your breath you cursed Malfoy a thousand times.
"Ron sent a letter," your mum chorused, her whole face brightening. "He said he's coming home."
Maybe, in the long run, Malfoy's actions had actually put you in the right place at the right time (but that still didn't mean you would forgive him.)
"That's great, Mum."
Ron never came home and after a week of waiting you apparated back just outside Hogwarts, more numb then you'd ever been before.
Nothing could hurt you...nothing could break you. You were invincible (or so you kept telling yourself.)
"You're back," Draco drawled as you crossed the threshold of the Great Hall. "I always knew Gryffindors were cowards."
"And you think you're not a coward?" You asked emotionlessly, asking one of the house elves to bring you a cup of tea and a biscuit to knaw on.
"I never claimed anything," he answered simply, crossing gracefully across the room to seat himself beside you. "But I have done things you would never even dream of seeing, let alone accomplishing."
Reaching over you yanked up his left sleeve, uncovering the Dark Mark, "You are no assassin."
Malfoy's expression darkened instantly, his silver eyes becoming steel, "Potter told you."
"He also told me you couldn't find the heart to kill Dumbledore, that you were sobbing and telling our late headmaster that unless you killed him the Dark Lord would kill you." There was still nothing in your tone to suggest vehemence but your eyes were unmovable granite.
Draco said nothing, staring at you with eyes as hollow as the graves of those slaughtered in cold blood.
"If you do not call yourself a coward then I can think of no other example." And with that you picked up your tea and biscuit and left the Great Hall, your temper brewing behind locked gates.
He ignored you for three days and then one morning you found a belated Christmas present on one of the tables in the Gryffindor common room.
Picking up the diamond necklace you chucked it out the window and watched in sadistic satisfaction as the rippling waters of the lake swallowed the gift whole - you felt no guilt over the act, for bribery could not claim your wild spirit.
You saw his bags littered near the entrance to the Slytherin common room and knew he was planning to leave.
"Why?" The simple question slipped from your lips and permeated the silence.
"My father is holding your precious Potter and his friends at my manor," Draco answered in a chilling tone, spinning to face her with a face like stone. "He has summoned me."
At his words your heart threatened to shrivel - as much as you fought to deny it he was this close to making you lose and you didn't even care anymore - but it shouldn't have because you felt nothing for him. He was a stuck-up, pompous brat and you didn't care whether he was dead or alive (because you cared so much it made you sick.)
When it finally sunk in that you would probably lose the Golden Trio in a matter of days the barriers around your heart shrieked but you said nothing, didn't move at all. You were above this - no matter how much it hurt - and it didn't matter what position your friends were in - though you knew you wouldn't be the same with them gone - so you should simply smile and leave. But you couldn't manage to move.
"You're still here?" He asked in a derogatory voice that suggested you were a fly that needed to be flicked away.
Your throat closed and you wanted - no, you didn't - to cry but you didn't think you could do anything anymore.
"Stay with me tonight and then decide if you can still bear to leave." Whose voice was that, filled with such emptiness? Was it truly your heart, screaming out past the bounds of sanity?
He didn't say anything but something in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: this doesn't mean anything.
It doesn't have to. You didn't say the words as he laid you down - surprisingly gently, as though you actually meant something to him - onto his satin covers, your lips meeting his in a fiery passion.
Just make me feel something. I can't feel so empty anymore...not tonight.
He was gone when you woke up the next morning, not even his scent remaining to lend you some comfort in your darkest hour. Your body tingled as you shifted on his comfortable bed, a slight ache reverberating through you with the movement.
Blocking out everything around you, you simply stared at the ceiling, remembering how you felt last night, how his purring voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine, how you felt so complete.
I lost my virginity to you, Draco, just so you know. You hadn't told him that but any idiot could have figured out the truth eventually. And by the sharp intake of breath from the blonde and the vulnerability in his silver eyes you guessed it had been his first time too.
You didn't cry, didn't speak, didn't do anything, just stared at the ceiling and felt your heart fragment into millions of shards and knew that something had changed.
The game was over.
You always did love to keep things systematic. Everything had its place, from concrete objects such as a rubber pencil to abstract emotions you folded neatly and placed in a box.
That is, until a certain blonde came in and broke you.
(You would never reclaim your tattered soul.)
|the end|
SPARKNOTES:
Well, that certainly didn't turn out how I'd expected. I intended to simply make this a Ginny oneshot about her subconscious need for control and then this happened and it somehow became a Draco/Ginny oneshot that somehow fit what I was trying to convey.
Obviously this isn't canon but I felt like messing around with it a little bit and did include bits of canon in there (ex: Golden Trio being caught and transported to Malfoy Manor.)
I experimented with second person so let me know how I did on that. I think it went pretty well (I actually can do any of the three persons without much difficulty but that's beside the point.)
Merry Christmas everyone!