Author's Note: I'm. so. SORRY! I've been an awful writer- but the urge to OneShot the days away took over a few months ago... and it wouldn't leave me be! Oh well- I'm now in a pattern of adding one paragraph (or twenty lines of dialogue) to each of my chapters when I sit down, so I'll be updating How to Kill a Weasley and The Ending is a Happy One soon. Then I'll get back to work on my pet- Boys and Girls. For now, this plot bunny decided to eat my soul yesterday as I came to a realizaton that everyone comes to at least once:
Mirrors are made of glass.
Shut up, I know what you're thinking. It's just so easy to forget sometimes, y'know? Bah. Anywho. Here we go.
Title: The Glass Room
Author: kneazleFTW (that means kneazle FOR THE WIN, by the way)
Summary: He didn't know of her. He didn't know of the floor. He didn't know of the room. He only knew that the red of her hair matched the red of the blood she continuously coughed into her handkerchief. AU DMGW
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley. Of course. :P
Genre: Romance/Angst
Disclaimer: I don't own anything vaguely familiar. The rest is mine, and you can't have it! -growl- Bwhahaha.
Warnings: Oh, this is so painfully AU (Alternate Universe. This means that it does NOT follow with the books- whatsoever, really- and it's just a random idea I had once upon a time, and I don't mind manipulating bit and pieces to my need.). So. Painfully. SAD. But you all don't know that yet, as you all haven't read my mind. Unless you have ALIEN MIND READING DEVICES. In which case, you should sell them on E-Bay. :D
I was born forty-three years ago to the wealth and prestige of the Malfoy name. I was pampered by my mother, beaten by my father, and, somewhere in the middle of all that, I found that power was anything and everything I needed. I attended a school- Hogwarts. I attended every day for seven years, topping all of the students in my year, and planning my welcoming to the Dark Lord's innermost circles. I had dabbled in the art of Dark Magic as a young man, and I thought myself all-knowing and without fault. I was selfish, and I took what I wanted and gave nothing in return.
Things got to be a bit of a puzzle, after a while. What do you give to a young, ambitious man who already has everything he could ever dream of desiring? It's not as easy a question as one may think. Love? Ha! That was a laughable idea to me then. I will not claim to be a stranger to women, for, while I play the game, I do not care for lies. Yet, while I had satisfied every lust my body had far more than once, even I had to be tamed one day.
She was not a vixen, by any means. She did not have smooth skin, such as ivory, nor hair the color of ink pools. She did not have heavy-lidded eyes, nor were they the color of a clear midday sky. She did not have curves in which a man longed to run his palms along, and she was not wealthy enough for clothes to make the illusion of such curves.
In fact, she was an emaciated young girl, with eyes large upon stretched, freckle-dusted skin that had an unhealthy yellow tint behind it. She was as innocent as could be, with eyes large and brown and showed endless amounts of, as if she were a newborn pup. She had hair the color of fire, though it was thin and often fell out when her condition worsened. To top it all off, she lived in a room of glass, hidden deep beneath the wizarding hospital known as St. Mungo's.
The instant I saw her, I knew she was dying. I knew it, and it did not affect me in the slightest bit. I was curious, I'll admit, as to the floor and the room- but I did not care, personally, what was happening (or what would happen) to the frail girl who I first saw looking at her Healer through a glass wall with a telephone to her ear. Not at the time, anyway.
That was the first time, and, I suppose, it was the most ignorant of my visits. The second time, I was better- I was braver. She tapped half-heartedly on a piano key the second time, and I listened as she did so. I didn't hide in the shadows when I arrived, as I did the first time, but, rather, I approached her sanctuary without hesitation. That's how she always was in my mind. She was a flame, and I was the moth. I was cautious at first, but only then, as, from that point on, I was drawn towards her- just as a moth to a flame, hence my simile.
I suppose I am getting ahead of myself- very well, let me start at the beginning. It was a rainy day in April, and I was only twenty-six...
April 23, 2006
"Ginny, your tests aren't showing any progression of the problem," the healer told her, but the redhead did not respond. She simply continued to stare mutely, the phone connecting her to the elderly woman despite the glass. It was her own comfortable prison cell- visitation area included.
"Is it going away?" she finally asked, and I raised an eyebrow from my spot hidden in the shadows- direct little thing, she was.
"Well, it's not spreading, and that's what we should be thankful for, wouldn't you agree?"
No, I wouldn't, I thought darkly.
"I suppose you're right," the girl, Ginny, responded, switching the olive-colored phone from one ear to the other. "Does that mean my medication is working?"
"It's doing better than we expected," the healer told her evasively.
"Wonderful!" Ginny answered with glee, but she caught her breath and released a strange hybrid of a cough and gurgle, catching the contents of it with a handkerchief.
"Oh my," the healer commented, "your coughs are nowhere near as powerful!"
Ginny smiled weakly, but, as frail as it was, it still managed to meet her eyes from what I could see, "I noticed."
"Well, this is all good to take into consideration. But we mustn't slack now- we must continue on with the treatment!" the woman declared, and Ginny nodded.
"I would like for nothing else. When will my new tutor be here?" she asked.
"Well, we asked for him to be here as soon as he could. It was hard, replacing your last tutor- people are..." the healer seemed to struggle for the right words."Scared?" Ginny offered quietly, and the woman on the other side of the glass- my side- sighed.
"Ginny, I'm so sorry. I tried to tell them otherwise, but... well, anything contagious frightens people, and I had to tell them the truth when they asked if you'd infected anyone before..."
Ginny's eyes flashed, and I leaned in to watch. "It wasn't my fault! That was an accident- I didn't know!"
"I know you didn't," the healer said quickly. "The problem is, Ginny, it's hard to tell that to people who have already judged you as they have."
"But- but... That's unfair," Ginny argued weakly, and I felt my eyebrows furrow. "They've never met me- they've never spoken to me. How can they accuse me of murder if they don't even know who I am? Even felons get a case in court that allows them to speak to the world- I'm just here, in a glass room with no visitors!""
"Ginny, you know I'd do everything in my power to get people to listen to you, but I'd be fighting a losing battle, sweetie. I'm sorry."
Ginny shook her head. "Don't be. I know you'd never mean that, Meredith. I just... it makes me so angry. I'm not even exactly sure why- it just does."
Meredith smiled a sad smile, and sighed. "You're a good girl Ginny. We'll do everything we can to make you better."
"Thank you Meredith. Thank you so much."
I heard the sound of Meredith's chair being pushed back, followed by the sound of heels upon the linoleum floor. I waited for the Chief Healer to motion for me to go into Ginny's line of vision, but, as she came towards me, she lifted a finger to her lips in a silent demand of silence before sliding into the shadows beside me.
I opened my mouth to say something, but I was silenced by a noise I could vaguely connect to my late mother's cat choking on a fur ball. It took a moment for it to register, but, when it did, my eyes widened slightly. That noise was being made by Ginny. I turned away from Meredith to watch as the redhead laid her arm out on the very edge of the table before her, buried her face in the crook of her elbow, and coughed loud, whooping coughs into her handkerchief. I turned back in hopes for answers from Meredith, only to find that the woman had slid her heels off and was heading out of the room. She turned for a moment, as if considering something, and then motioned for me to follow her.
I did so without hesitation.
When we entered a hallway lit by the same glass orbs as always, I spoke in a hiss of a whisper. "What was THAT?" I asked.
"That was Ginny Weasley," Meredith explained, and I felt my eyes narrow.
"Weasley?" I asked, all of my respect gone for the girl.
"Oh, posh, Mister Malfoy- don't give me that," Meredith snapped, mocking my title as she did so and waving her hand dismissively. "You've never met the poor girl- don't go judging her."
"You want me to tutor a Weasley?" I demanded, standing tall, but still just barely standing an inch above the older woman before me, who had replaced her shoes on her feet.
Meredith huffed. "Yes, and you will do it if you want to be released of your debt."
"Merlin- are all women this infuriating?" I asked darkly.
"No," she bit out, "that poor girl in there is the sweetest person on this planet. Don't you go and taint her, Malfoy, or the gloves will come off."
And, with that, she turned on her heel and left me to stand alone, anger pulsating through my veins. A few moments passed, during which I tried to ease my temper.
"A Weasley?!"
----------------------------------
"Oh, hello! Are you my new tutor?" she asked into the phone, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I nodded.
"That would be me, yes," I told her.
She frowned slightly, and I awaited an insult from her. "Draco Malfoy. That's your name, right?"
"That is correct," I answered, not all that surprised that she knew my name.
"Don't you want to know how I knew that?" she asked me.
I stared at her for a moment. "Not entirely, no. I suppose it was from your brothers' mouths or some copy of the Daily Prophet they snuck in there for you.
"The Daily Prophet?" she barked with laughter and I'll be damned if I wasn't taken aback by it the tiniest bit.
"How is that comical?" I demanded.
"Well, it isn't- not really, I suppose. But I hardly read that rubbish anymore. Rita Skeeter, y'know?"
I nodded tightly, because I did know. I couldn't remember the last time I had read that rag, but, then again, time was of no matter when it involved the past.
"If you don't read the Prophet, how did you know who I am?" I asked.
She hesitated, but spoke anyway. "You look an awful lot like your mother," she told me, and I froze.
I hadn't seen my mother in six years. She had fallen into a deep depression after my father died, leaving all of his business and personal agendas to me. My mother snuck out often- disguising herself as a Muggle or, almost as dreadful, a lower class witch, to get into bars and not taint my name. I couldn't recall how many times I sent the house elves to find her in Muggle London, nor how many times I had to take her back home with a hood over my head and a cloak swallowing my body. I had never thought to count. One night she found the ill effects of drinking alcohol with Muggle medication for depression, and she had been put into St. Mungo's. She had never left, and, while I had never gotten all the details, I knew she chose to die, and she did not accept treatment.
"You knew my mother," I stated, and she nodded.
"She was beautiful," she whispered, and I couldn't help but agree. "I never saw it much before, but I suppose I understand why Lavender Brown has posters of you on her walls. You're rather dashing."
I felt my eyebrows shoot up at that. She made it sound so... innocent. As if she told everyone exactly what she thought of their looks instantly. Maybe she did.
"I appreciate that," I told her politely, though not honestly. She snorted.
"Don't lie- I'm sure you get that a hundred times a day. Don't worry, I'm not going to stalk you or anything," she sighed, rapping on the glass that separated once. "Not like I could, anyway."
I didn't know how to respond to that. I was curious as to what she had, but I wasn't exactly sure as to how I should bring it up. I stared at her for a few moments, as if considering what to say. She smiled, biting her lip as she did so to show much of her front right tooth.
"It's okay," she told me. "I know you want to know. You can just ask, but I'm not going to answer a question that hasn't been put out first."
"I don't want to know anything," I said vehemently, feeling a bit defensive. "I am here to schedule tutoring for the next three months, and I don't need any other information to do as much. Now then, what was your last tutor teaching you?"
"A lot," she said, smiling that same crinkly smile that stretched her freckles farther out across her pale face.
"Specifically speaking...?" I asked, already irritated.
She leaned back in her seat a bit and stopped smiling as she began to think. "We had just finished discussions on summoning charms, and we were about to begin working on werewolves. After that, he had planned to lead me into studies on wolfsbane and the Drought of Peace, followed by a brief overview of tea leaf meanings."
"How do you do all of that?" I asked her, and she laughed a bit.
"I don't do anything. It's all a bunch of lecturing- no actual participation, as we're not sure if I'd have any allergic reaction, or if it was an allergic reaction that caused it."
"Can't they run tests on that sort of stuff?" I found myself asking before I could stop myself.
She smiled again, biting her bottom lip just slightly once more. "They don't want to take any more blood than they have to. They've run an allergy test on me once before, and nothing showed up. However, that doesn't mean that it's not an allergy doing this to me. They can only test what they know- there's no room for theory when it comes to application of basic medicines in situations as... extreme as my own."
"I suppose that would make sense. If we weren't magical," I said, scoffing at the stupidity of the St. Mungo's staff.
"Draco," she said, smile still in place, "magic doesn't fix everything. A wave of a wand and a few words may make a table into a clothes pin, but it will hardly make sure that the entire body is in perfect condition. That would make us immortal, in a sense, and that is unfair to the Muggles."
"How so? It's their fault they-"
"It is not their fault," she said slowly, cutting me off and forcing me to quiet. "They are human beings, too. Homo sapien sapiens. We are in balance with them, Draco. We may be able to use magic, but Muggles can do all sorts of things! They've been to the moon, Draco- the moon. They've discovered things such as the atom- things that witches and wizards alike thought to be insignificant. We may have magic, but Muggles have instinct. It's a precious thing, and it stretches beyond just our natural instinct to survive. We wave wands to start a fire, they would find flint. If anything, we should respect them, not shun them. Can you imagine going through a day without magic? I can't, and I live in a glass box."
I sat, silently fuming within a body that appeared calm and apathetic. I'm not sure how long I sat there, but it was enough time to convince myself that everything she had said was wrong, and the fact that she could say it all with that same smile on her face disgusted me.
"I'm going to leave now, to plan out all of your tutoring," I tell her tightly, keeping my emotions in check for seemingly the first time since I stepped on the hidden floor with this strange glass room. "And, Miss Weasley?"
"Yes?" she asked, innocent to the core as she looked up at me with large brown eyes.
"I would prefer it if you referred to me as Mr. Malfoy from now on," I informed her, standing and straightening my robes with the hand that wasn't holding the phone.
She looked surprised, but only just. She smiled almost knowingly at me before speaking. "How rude of me, of course I'll call you Mr. Malfoy. But I'd appreciate it if you'd begin calling me Ginny. Miss Weasley makes me sound like I'm on my death bed!"
I nodded tightly as I looked at her in a manner I assumed appeared incredulous before hanging up the phone, turning on my heel and exiting the room that held her glass cage.
"Goodbye Mister Malfoy!"
---
Of our first meeting, I can remember those words most of all. Her goodbye had more of an impact on me than what I had thought to be a pathetic excuse for a lecture about Muggles being equal to those of magical capacities.
I could hear her through the glass, and something about the happiness in those words- the hope and glee every young girl has and eventually grows out of- shook me to the core, though I didn't realize it.
I wouldn't realize it until later on, once I was nestled perfectly within a web of events I could never have imagined at the age of twenty-six. Even at the age of forty I struggle to be as she was. Inside, she was everything wise, gentle, and honest... I hated her for that, I think... However, on the outside, she was dying.
Even my ignorant twenty-six-year-old self knew that.
Author's Note: What do you think? I'm glad to be starting on this plot bunny. Expect updates on the others soon. Also, due to the fact that my beta can't handle another story being dropped on her lap right now, I'd like to warn you all that this is going to be rough to say the least. Bah. Next chapter to come... soon.