Your Ex-Lover Is Dead
Spurred by a song called 'Your Ex-Lover Is Dead' by Stars. Nobody dies. Strange, confusing little oneshot. Of course, the HP belongs to that wonderful author Jo Rowling :
It was raining when they stood outside the Ministry. Her emerald green dress robes swished idly at her heels, and she laughed, leaning on Harry's arm. The two behind them were grinning amongst themselves; they made no movement to break into Harry and Ginny's conversation. The ebony headed boy pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and in the process, caught eyes with a newly-close mate of his, Draco Malfoy.
It had been years since they had all seen each other. The world had become a shy, personal place, filled with witches and wizards who only wanted to forget their pasts.
But Harry, ever the gentleman, turned and clapped his mate on the back, grinning widely.
"How have you been? And who's this, here?"
Ginny turned away from them quickly, choosing instead to stare idly out into the rain as they spoke. She heard bits of conversation, with the words 'fiancé' and 'Italy'. None of it really interested her, suddenly. She just wanted to catch a cab and get out of there.
She had drifted back into the conversation to tell Harry she was leaving, but the hand she waved before his face was suddenly grabbed and kissed as Draco Malfoy did the gentlemanly thing and became acquainted with her.
Surprised, she nodded politely and murmured a brief, "Yes, I think we've met before," prior to searching for a way to escape.
She was almost to the curb, ready to flag down a cab, when she heard uproarious laughter from the stairs. A moment later, there was a beautiful blonde witch on Harry's arm, and Draco was quickly advancing toward her.
"Ginny," Harry said, smiling, "Draco has agreed to escort you back to your flat. It seems you're both going in the same direction, so he figured he would watch out for you."
She nodded absently, presenting her cheek for him to kiss, before she was whisked through the rain into a cab he had managed to catch.
In all the silence he created, he had a tight frown on his face, like a grieving fellow. The cab rumbled beneath their feet.
No, he would've denied it. He wasn't sad. He was remembering her.
Looking out the window, into the shifting rain, she was suddenly struck with his memories. She recalled his eyes, and his arms around her; she remembered his lips, and their many intimate moments that pinkened her cheeks. She squeaked and turned to him, frowning delicately.
So he had become a good guy in his time away. He had attempted to love her - he failed miserably - and then fled, to become a top Auror.
She was angry and disappointed to be in the same vehicle as he was. After all, he had left her at the alter many years ago, when she was yet very young; she had made her decision and he had left the country, leaving her to grieve. Then, of course, she had found Harry again. He wasn't the passion that Draco was, but he was love, and that, it seemed, was all that mattered just then.
The rain splashed against the window, and despite the distance between them, he reached across the seat and grabbed her hand in his, squeezing it tightly. It wounded her, slightly.
"Live through this," he said quietly, "and you won't look back."
He didn't make any sense, but he still held her hand, delicately, between them, even as he stared out the window.
"There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave," she murmured quietly, and he turned to meet her. "You were what I wanted, I gave what I gave. I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over. I'm not sorry there's nothing to save."
Without saying a word, he leaned across the seat and pressed his mouth against hers, tangling his hands in her hair. She sobbed loudly, even as her gloved fingers slid through his silver locks. The rest of the ride went silently, with her head in his lap, his fingers curling through her hair.
When the cab pulled up in front of her flat, she sat up, resting her hand against the door handle.
"It's nothing but time and a face that you lose," she said. "I chose to feel it, and you couldn't choose."
He nodded sadly, quietly, and she dusted her hand down the side of his face, gazing into his eyes.
"I'll write you a postcard, I'll send you the news, from a house down the road from real love."
Neither of them understood, when she got out of the car. Neither of them knew what had happened, or what had recurred between them.
When the door of the cab clicked back shut, he leaned against the window, staring out into the rain, once again.
He decided he would go back tomorrow.