"Hey Gin'!" Ron hooted from across the loft, wiping the thick grey dust from under his eyes and wrinkling his nose at the hairball which had settled upon it. He snickered. "I found your old diary!"
Ginny straightened up from the box she was clearing out, and from her knees looked over at Ron in confusion. Firstly, she wondered why Ron was going through the boxes that she had told him not to go through, as Harry had been incredibly touchy on the subject and had explicitly told her her he wanted to sort them himself. Secondly, she wondered why Ron was waving some elegant black journal at her that clearly was the pink padlocked diary that Ginny had been envisioning.
"Are you talking about thatbook?" she asked him raising her eyebrows at her her mistaken brother.
"Well gah, Ginny! The pages scream, 'I love Harry! I love Harry!'"
"Give it here," Ginny ordered with scepticism, climbing gracefully over the boxes; still nimble at twenty two years of age.
"What's it worth?" Ron held it above her head and out of her reach. "I think I might want to have another read!"
"Give it here, Ron!" Ginny shouted, playing along and clawing up her brothers arm. She was certain it wasn't her diary in any shape or form – the book looked more like it held the secrets to the darkest spells and jinxes than something that told of the earliest prepubescent agonies of her crush on the boy that was now her husband. She only wondered how Ron had got it into her head that it was her diary.
"Oh, Gin!" Ron laughed. "Puny as ev -oof!"
Ron doubled over as Ginny punched him in his soft belly and 'diary' fell neatly into her hands. She opened the slim leather book in no particular place and was greeted with an elegant cursive hand that clearly wasn't her own.
...happens every time I look down at him; his dark raven locks; his flawless golden skin - tanned from long practice on the quidditch pitch under the harsh summer sun - it never quite escapes me how devastatingly beautiful he actually is. His hair spread out in wild declaration that as much as I deny it, I am his. When his eyes are shut and his dark eye lashes scrape softly against his cheeks, his head laid softly against my chest rising and falling with the soft hum of my breathing it is always that moment in time when he is fast asleep and I am so painfully awake that I want to give everything to him. That I want to strip away my body completely and present to him my soul in the most expensive silver and green ribbons that I hope may somehow disguise how hollow and acidic and black it truly is. I want to tell the world I'm his.
"Oh yes," Ginny said weakly, and bent over Ron did not notice the stricken expression on her face. "This old thing – silly me. I'll have to put it somewhere safer."
"Oh Gin, us Weasley's ain't goin' to get any less scatterbrained are we?" Ron said good-naturedly as she rushed towards the trapdoor of the loft. "That's why I've always needed 'Ermione." He paused for a second as the top of Ginny's crimson head disappeared down the ladder. "But why did you call Harry 'Potter'?"
She was glad he didn't see the tears that were already falling down her face.
O
It was over dinner with Hermione and the children that the 'Ginny's diary' came up in conversation again. Hermione had just asked Ron how the clearing out of Harry and Ginny's loft had come along, after he eagle eyes had been trying to avoid the sight of all the thick grey dust plaited neatly through her husbands fiery red hair.
"Yer, fine, fine," Ron had said through a mouthful of chicken and mashed potato. "Ginny got a bit funny towards the end, mind."
"Why?" Hermione asked, her keen mind alert. "Did she come across something she didn't like?" Hermione knew everything.
"Duno," Ron shrugged, as he whipped the gravy of little Fred's mouth. And Fred snorted a "'Fanks, dad." "Probably my fault, Herm," Ron said guiltily after swallowing. "I teased her about what she had written in her diary."
"Oh," said Hermione, feeling silly about jumping to such seriously conclusions. She was sure Harry wouldn't have been stupid to have kept anything that would pull apart the perfect life he had tried so hard to build for Ginny. "I'm sure she'll be fine then." And she drained the last drops of cold water from her glass.
O
When Harry came home he hadn't expected Ginny to be sat at the kitchen table, twisting her wedding ring in her hands. Her cup of coffee was cold and untouched on the plaid table clothe before her. She didn't seem to be able to speak.
"Ginny?" Harry asked, immediately alarmed and dropping his coat and briefcase. It had been raining heavily outside and he brushed the water from his dark hair as he fell to his knees in front of her. "What's wrong, Ginny? What's happened?"
One hand was on her thigh, the other stroking her arm but she didn't seem to respond as his green eyes poured into her. Those green eyes that to her had always seemed so alluring and inescapable and endless. Those green eyes that she now knew had desired him, and had, she now knew, also satiated that desire of him so many forbidden times.
"Ginny?"
"Harry," she choked out. "Why?"
O
"Potter!" The harsh voice broke through his conciousness. "Potter!"
"Wh...what?" Harry murmured, not opening his eyes. Skin was soft and sticky beneath his cheek.
There was silence for a second, and then voice seemed to give in. "Nothing."
"Mmmm."
"I hate you, Potter."
Harry laughed fondly, his tongue snaking out of his mouth to rub across the soft nipple blushing Draco's flawless ivory skin pink. "You too, Malfoy." And then the Gryffindor promptly fell back asleep.
"What?" Harry asked Ginny, tilting his head so he could see the tears overflowing from her brown eyes beneath her friend. Her eyes were usually so warm and full of laughter. "Ginny, I -"
He saw the journal on the desk.
For a second, nothing moved. And then he stood up and grabbed the journal. Just to be sure he opened the front cover and there was the writing, October 31st, 1996; in all its cursive elegance. The first feelings that tore through Harry's heart was pain, and the first feelings he showed were anger.
"Why do you have this?" he asked, his voice raw and cold and unlike anything Ginny had heard from him before. "Ginny – why do you have this?"
"Ron found it," she said, without much emotion. "The words loved you so much, he thought the diary was mine."
In such confusion and exposure Harry couldn't hold on to his anger. The book was held so tightly in his hands, his knuckles white. He said, somewhat with shame, "Do you... do you know who...?"
"Yes, Harry. I don't need the diary to tell me you've never loved me quite as much as him."
"Don't say that Ginny," Harry's eyes were suddenly imploring. "This – this diary-" he held it up "-is from – is from years ago, Ginny. Things that happened when I was young and I – things that happened when I didn't know what was – or whowas good for me." Ginny stood up and walked calmly to the other side of the kitchen. She didn't want to be near him. "Please don't let anything in here make you think I don't love you any more than I did yesterday."
"I can't do this any more, Harry."
"Ginny -"
"A Weasley can never beat a Malfoy, I've always known that."
Harry felt the own tears prickle in his eyes, his throat grow tight. He flung the diary from his hand so hard onto the table at it fell over the edge and clapped against the floor. "Damn Malfoy!"
O
Harry laid back against the wall of the broomshed, panting heavily. A sheen of cool, guilty sweat cooled all of Harry's skin as he closed his eyes weakly and Draco drew himself up from his knees.
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders and pulled him close. A cruel gleam shone in Draco's eyes. He said, "I bet you none of the Weasleys' know how to do it like that."
"I couldn't tell you," Harry said, as Draco's hips started grinding against him again and he didn't want to think of them. "I'm only dating one of them."
"Damn Malfoy? Damn Malfoy?" Ginny cried. "Harry! I've tried to be happy, I've tried to be content because I thought it was just a crush you neve got a chance to let go of. But now I find out... now I find out that... that you..."
Harry sat down, feeling his life falling apart with every practically memmorised sentence that came back to him after just looking at the cover of Draco's diary.
O
And as I sit here writing this I wonder where he is, who he is with and imagine what it will feel like to touch him again. To feel him press against my hands and my fingers and into my mouth. To feel myself inside of him again. To feel Evil penetrate his very beautific core.
O
"Just admit you're still in love with him, Harry." He didn't answer, and an anger stirred inside herself. "Just admit it, Harry!"
He looked up, surprised. He said flatly, "Draco is dead, Ginny."
The use of Malfoy's first name reminded her of the intimacy, of the betrayal and the lies, but she pursued. "But you wish to God it wasn't so, don't you?" She said, "You'd pray to God every day if you knew it would bring him back, wouldn't you?" But again, no answer. "You would have sent me to Voldemort if you'd have thought he'd take me instead." Nothing. "Wouldn't you have, Harry!"
O
"You missed a bitemark, Harry."
Harry jumped, thinking he was alone in the Gryffindor commonroom. He rubbed a hand over his neck to find the give-away mark he must have missed when magicking away all obvious marks of his nights escapades.
"Oh... thanks, Hermione. Yeah, Ginny was a bit... rough."
The brown haired girl sat down opposite him. "You're back late."
"Not that late," Harry said, holding his book bag closer to him as he felt the weight of Hermione's probing questions.
"I'm working on a Potions project. It's taken a while – a two man job really. Unfortunately I was partnered with Malfoy and he didn't turn up to help out today."
"No?" Harry asked, knowing full-well where Malfoy was.
"No, he didn't. But I'm very tired now, Harry," Hermione said, tucking the scroll of parchment tighter beneath her arm. "So I'm going to go to bed, now." She stood, but didn't leave. "I just want to say one more thing."
Harry swallowed. "Okay."
"I've never said anything when you blow off Ginny with ridiculous excuses and spend extra time 'practising quidditch' when we all know full well there are Raven Claw training sessions on. I've never even said anything when you lie to Ron and I, your best friends, or when you go off to play with death with the closest of Voldemorts inner-circle... But Harry, I do draw the line when you interfere with my education!"
"Hermione, I--"
"So, Harry, if you really want your sordid little secret to remain a sordid little secret... I suggest you make sure Draco Malfoy does his side of our potions work."
And with that said, she left a wide eyed Harry staring at her open mouthed and she marched up to bed.
O
He said, "How did you know?"
"How did I know? I felt like practically the last to know! Well... except Ron, that is, but that's really not saying much. And it's really not hard to forget, Harry..." she paused, trying to collect herself and trying to stop herself from breaking down. "It's really not hard to forget, Harry... when you wake me up at night, crying out his name in your sleep."
O
She was just aware of Harry jerking in his sleep. He words had only been whispers for some time. Now, they intensified.
"Draco!" he cried, helplessly. "Draco..." he begged, tears escaping his eyes. "Please leave him... Take me! Draco – LEAVE HIM! NO -!"
"HARRY! HARRY!" Ginny woke him up, she couldn't stand to here him in so much pain. Especially over someone else.
He opens his eyes. They are a clear and unmuddied emerald. There were no traces of sleep in his face. He said weakly, "I was dreaming of the final battle... I saw... I..."
"I know Harry, I know." But he knew he thought she knew less. She pulled him up into her arms and his breathing became slow and steady once more as he feel back into a safer sleep. Ginny found she couldn't sleep more many hours after that as she wished he didn't always call out the same name.
Ginny said resolutely, "I'm going to stay at Romilda's tonight. I'll tell you what I want to do in the morning."
"Why not Ron and Hermione's?" Harry asked helplessly, knowing he'd feel better if he knew they were keeping an eye on her.
"Not Hermione, not tonight. She breaks my heart nearly as much as you do when she tries to convince me the person your in love with is me."
O
I have wronged Potter in every sense of the word. As an enemy, as a friend, as a boy and a lover. I thank my mother for helping me realise that. It is perhaps a conceited thing to claim, but I'm pretty sure Potter too, will admit she is right. After so many obstacles he has over come, all those defenses he has broken down, there is no one else for him to conquer. Not really.
But Voldemort will never let me live. I will not be there when the war is over; to love him. I will not be part of the new world. I'm sorry Harry. Forgive me. If there's anyone strong enough to prove my mother wrong – and believe me, she's a frighteningly shrewd women - I know it will be you.
But please don't do it until my heart is rotten and my body is dust - because I don't want to know you can do it. I want to go to the grave loving you, taking with me those words that I have held onto since I was a tiny, six year old boy. I want to go to the grave thinking you are out there, loving me, too.
O
"Goodbye Harry."
"I'm sorry, Ginny."
"Goodbye Harry."
He pauses. "Goodbye."
O
"Mummy?"
"Yes, Draco?"
"Daddy's so mean to you."
Narcissa nurses a bruised cheek that she has not yet healed with magic. "Daddy's only mean sometimes, Draco. And he's never mean to you. Come on, into bed."
A six year old Draco climbs reluctantly under the thick emerald duvets of his four poster bed.
"Yes," Draco says not lying down like he knows his mother wants. "But he's mean to you."
"Well that's just the way daddy is, darling. Now come on, lie down."
Draco ignored her. "Well if daddy does it again, I shan't love him any more, mummy."
"Of course you won't, darling," Narcissa smiles and tucks the duvets around his chin.
"And I don't think you should, either."
"I don't think I have a choice in that."
Draco doesn't understand. "Why not?"
She smiles. "You'll understand when your older."
"No!" Draco shouts, and tries to spring up from under the heavy duvets. "Tell me!"
Narcissa looks fondly down to her son. "It takes an awful lot to love a Malfoy, Draco darling," she explains. "There are so many things that want to stop you. People, experiences, doubts... fears and even fate. But when you finally get past all of that, you find you never want to go back." She kisses her son on the forehead and her red lipsticks leaves a slight mark on his ivory skin. "Malfoy's are special in that way, darling. Once you love a Malfoy, you will never love another again."
And Narcissa Malfoy stood and looked another moment and at her beautiful little boy far to small for the luxurious bed he was tucked into.
"Alright mummy. Whatever," Draco said, turning away from her and onto his side. "I'll just have to see later."
"You will darling, you will," Narcissa said, extinguishing the lights with a swift flick of her wand and shutting the door. She touched her swollen eye gingerly as she made her way to her own bedroom, thinking, most of all, if there ever was a Malfoy you could love, it was Draco.
"I know you will darling," she said to herself. "You will."
O
Harry closed the journal for which was probably the hundredth time.
O
Once you love a Malfoy you will never love another again.