Ginny couldn't sleep. She hadn't for months now. She lay in bed, aching for a soothing embrace; but she knew it will never be warm again. She sat up and hugged her knees. She felt the cold and pain. The images of him lying on the ground swam in her head. She couldn't cry. Not again.
The curtains billowed as she felt the cold breeze on her bare shoulders. She got up from bed and walked to the window. Moonlight was streaming in the room, just as it lit the grass on the castle grounds. She looked out to lake, which waters glistened. It made her smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She needed to feel something again. Maybe she needed to test the cold.
Draco had to have some air. It was almost three in the morning, yet the sandman might have forgotten him. It wasn't entirely the sandman's fault. Draco himself wasn't in bed, but at the foot of it, sitting on the patterned carpet, in front of his fireplace. He can feel his sweat roll down from his bare back. His mind was racing. It's going to be a different year for him, he knew it. His father had started acting jittery in the past year, something he's never witnessed before. He may hate Potter, but he wasn't stupid. He knows Scarhead is telling the truth. He knows the Dark Lord is back. His father shouting at their house elves to look for his Death Eater mask was the confirmation. For a fact, Draco took it on purpose when he was just eleven.
He was tired of thinking about all of it. He watched his arms glisten with sweat. He stood up, grabbed his wand, and put on a shirt over his torso. He walked to the door.
"Accio, Nimbus," he muttered.
Draco didn't fly as he would in a Quidditch match. His flight was gentle tonight, trying to relax his thoughts. He flew slowly over the castle and courtyard, but sped up through the trees of the forbidden forest. He had detention there during his first year, and was scared out of his wits—even leaving behind Potter. He spent flying through the forest everytime, to get familiar, and to get rid of fear. So there he was, flying through the trees, when he spotted a white figure by the edge of the forest, near the lake. He slowed down, and discreetly approached it.
It was a young woman, in a white night dress, who sat on a large boulder. Her scarlet hair billowed gently, exposing her moonlit shoulder. It was a sight to admire, though the setting was curious. She could have been a fucking mermaid, Draco thought; if she just wasn't a Weasley. Familiar to the need of being alone, Draco let her be.
He flew over the trees, then over the lake. Draco didn't disturb her, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious to why the youngest Weasley was there at this hour. Flying high over the water, he peered over her. He saw her stand up.
And jump into the black water.