(A/N: I re-read Half Blood Prince just now, and a sudden thought came to my mind! So I hope you guys like this, it's my first attempt at a remotely sad fic. Please review, tell me what you think! Thank you all :D)
Red
Perhaps I owe you an explanation.
She once belonged to me, you know? Your wife, I mean. Ginny, with the ruby red hair; the cherry red lips; heart that burned with a red-hot passion. Ginny, who was always the talk of the boys when we were back at school. Ginny, Red as I used to call her, the girl I loved, and the woman who loves you.
"Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at the Chosen One," sneered Malfoy, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"
You might've remembered that evening on the Hogwarts Express. Yes, the one in our Sixth Year where you 'stealthily' sneaked into my compartment. Quite the undercover agent, weren't you? As far as I'm concerned, however, I'm not one to seek clarification to questions I know. Which leaves me wondering why I asked that stupid, stupid question when the answer was so obvious.
She was special, there was no doubt about that as the whole of Hogwarts knew. Why do you think those juvenile boys chased after her with starry eyes and open mouths? It was what made her special that was something she'd only ever let me comprehend.
Well, that was then. Maybe now, you know it too.
It was the April of our Fifth Year.
The verandas were in full bloom and sweet-smelling nectar filled the air but I did none to realise it, courtesy of my blemishless forearm – soon to be branded. The flowers grew more beautiful, my sense of forboding condensed, and you were off saving the world somewhere or the other, I suppose.
You remember the big oak tree by the Black Lake? I sat there for nights on end, brooding over my future. Maybe now, you'll come to the realisation that heroes aren't the only ones with sealed fates. This will most likely be the furthest the two of us have got in common, and I can't say I desire more than that.
No one would've expected a redhead to turn up in the pitch black midnight and sit next to them for no apparent reason. But I later learnt that Ginny is nothing but predictable. She sat by me, quietly gazing over the still waters. Then, she took my hand. We sat in silence.
Consequently, we conversed. She told me how she felt the need to help, I told her how I couldn't. She said she wished the Dark Lord would leave everyone alone. She was surprised when I told her the same. One thing led to another, and I had her by the towering oak tree, its canopies of leaves shielding us from the world when pleasure reigned.
Maybe we had an understanding, maybe it was nothing more than a forbidden thrill. It might even have been love.
"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"
Traditionally, it always started off with physical attraction. She was different, though. Special, perhaps. Blaise had a part to play in the whole scheme of things, in case you had no inkling whatsoever. Being one of the sharpest Slytherins – and Slytherins are the sharpest, I'll have you know, he'd found out about our midnight rendezvous and egged us on mercilessly.
Speaking to Ginny'd become an enjoyable habit for him, too, and we'd spend hours sitting around the fireplace talking about anything under Apollo. She confessed how she felt like she belonged so much more with us, instead of always being a third wheel among you and your two ever-faithful sidekicks, the Golden Trio, whatever. I still loathe you for doing that to her, for taking one year to realise who she was and another five to do something about it, for claiming her as your own even then.
"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have – er – moved on to bigger and better things."
I hoped you'd hear that and by any chance tell Ginny about it. I hoped she'd think she didn't mean anything to me, simply because she did. She meant everything.
That was a week before my initiation. I had no way out, I could see none. She kept holding me back, begging me not to do it, to turn to Dumbledore. But how could I turn to someone I didn't trust? She tried, Lord she tried, to talk me out of it, but I told her the Dark Lord would kill me if I didn't. Stupid Gryffindors – she thought courage was the solution to everything. Sometimes, sacrifice is.
"Why? Draco, why?!" She shouted, clenching her fists into my robes and shaking them with vigour. I thought I saw furious tears shivering down the silvers of her cheeks when the fight escaped out of her and she fell into me, as she had so many times before.
But I ended it and went ahead anyway, because I knew if I'd turned to Dumbledore, the Dark Lord would kill her. It was my fate, not hers. I was the one to bear this burden, not her. But I loved her, and that's what you do when you love – you compromise. You sacrifice.
Pity she could never see that.
And he stamped, hard, on Harry's face. Harry felt his nose break; blood spurted everywhere. "That's for my father."
I lied to you, Potter. It was for Ginny. It always was, and always will be. Because I love her, but she'll never know. Ginny, with eyes that burned with a scarlet fire.
Red, as I used to called her.