Danse Macabre
Disclaimer: The words are mine, but the Harry Potter universe and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling, et al.
Content Notes: Graphic discussion of death and mourning.
Ginevra is dead, the newspapers tell him in simple, mournful black. There aren't many details-not about her death and not about the funeral, either. For all he knows, her family's already buried her or perhaps there was no body to bury. Perhaps her freckled limbs and gold-brown eyes and long, red hair have been torn to pieces. It shouldn't matter because he'll never feel her clutch at him or kiss him or look at him from across the battlefield like he was a tragedy and not just a traitor, but Draco hopes they left a corpse.
He hopes there is some rotting flesh and hard, white bones and little maggots to welcome him when he crawls beneath the earth to join her. He doesn't know where else he may go, or what else he will do if there aren't because his only plan for the war's end was to return to her. If he cannot do even that much, his whole life is a waste and no other obituary could make up for it. Nothing could make up for it because Draco is not noble. He has always known it and he thinks she knew it, too, because she was not surprised when he left her for the Dark Lord.
He wonders if the Order will be surprised to see him return before their victory's secure, but he needs more than the crowded page can give him-needs more than her full name, her dates of birth and death, her pretty face-or a thumbnail of it. He needs to know what he is fighting for, so he Apparates to Grimmauld Place and he is floored-he is brought to his knees in the entrance because Ginevra is there. Not just an image of her, and not just her bones, but her body, her breath, her beating heart.
"You're alive," he chokes and here are the tears he did not allow himself in the Manor-could not allow himself, there-and here are his shoulders crumbling and here are his thoughts bursting from their cramped compartments. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, tries to block out every stupid thing in his head because he's incapable of Occlumency now. He is blown wide open and he feels like he's bleeding on the floor, though there are no wounds.
She's alive, and she's kneeling beside him, and she has her arms around him and it's like she understands. Like everything he's hoped for is here, even though the war's not over, even though there's so much left to do. Ginevra tells him, "I'm not going anywhere."
Author's Note: Thanks for readng. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated :).