I'm not making any promises that this story will last, as I'm not a very experienced writer yet. I'm really grateful for anyone's support, please bear with me, I'm not sure this will work out. However, I do appreciate reviews and views in general. And I hate to beg, but please give me a shot!
Chapter One: Stupefied.
The sunlight of a crisp, cold December day filtered through the one true window in the Three Broomsticks, glowing softly on the dark floor. It was late day, nearly sunset, and the sky was pale pink with a few wispy white clouds hovering on the horizon, the sun a bright golden orb just above the distant black mountains. Though the inside of the small pub was warm and cozy, Draco could hear the wind howling like a wounded animal just outside the double doors.
It made him shiver, though he was still wearing his black cloak, gloves, and boots. He should have been burning alive, but he wasn't. All he felt was cold. It seemed to cling to the inside of his clothes, to his skin, to his entire being. Always, always cold. He hadn't been truly warm in...a while.
"Firewhiskey." Madam Rosemerta said, slamming a glass down on the bar. Draco jumped, startled. He'd had to turn around on his stool to see the window, and hadn't noticed her approach.
"Thanks." He mumbled, fumbling for his pockets. "On the house." Madam Rosemeta said with a small smile. Just like she did every Friday. He tried to smile back, but failed.
He rarely ever succeeded. She turned away, a slightly concerned look in her brown eyes.
Draco sipped his firewhiskey, comforted by the familiar path it burned down his throat and into his stomach. He'd gotten used to the slight bit of steam that billowed from his mouth every time he drank it. It was the only thing that made him warm anymore.
The pub was more crowded that it usually was, but, then again, it was a Friday and people were celebrating the end of the work week.
Red-faced men clinked glasses and laughed, rather too loudly, over old memories and stories from the past. A few witches chatted idly at the end of the bar, one of them(the prettiest by far with curly honey-colored hair and long-lashed blue eyes) smoking a golden pipe that emitted rings of purple smoke. She noticed Draco watching her and winked. He half-smiled back, but didn't mean it.
Two old gentlemen sitting at a table in the corner played wizard's chest. The losing wizard was, very, very loudly, accusing the winner of cheating.
It was a happy, joyful atmosphere, made all the more robust by the knowledge that Christmas was only two weeks away, as evidenced by the thick garlands scattered about the room, and the mistletoe hung over the doorway. But Draco Malfoy was not filled with Christmas spirit. And he was very bitter about it.
He should have been clinking glasses with his friends. He should have been kissing girls and going to the many, many Christmas balls and parties that were being thrown. He was twenty-one, a Hogwarts graduate, working at Borgin and Burkes and slowly earning the profits to buy it himself. He'd refused to use any of the(greatly diminished) Malfoy fortune, secretly preferring to do something without the aid of his parents for once, though his doting mother had been desperately trying to force him to except some money. Especially after he'd gotten a tiny flat in London. "Oh, but Draco!" She'd moaned, looking around the rather bare and cramped kitchen/living room/library. "It's horrible in here!"
"It's fine, Mum. Honest." He'd said, laughing. Lies.
He hated the flat. He was used to the grand, open space of the manor, and suddenly being thrown into a dingy little living space was what he imagined a great lion being thrown into a pet crate was like. He was king of the jungle, forced to be common.
So why had he left home, and why so quickly(two months before Christmas)?
Because, on the evening of September 25th exactly, he'd received an owl from Potter. Inviting him to the wedding in July. Something in Draco had snapped, and he'd promptly left the manor, unable to stand the...memory. The one he didn't dare think about.
After the war, his family had lost quite a bit of money and respect, but they had kept the manor and a few house elves, and things were slowly getting back to normal. His father was back at the Ministry(after a bit of blackmail), his mother and the other former Death Eater wives were forcing their way back into the world of the grand ladies. And he was at least respected by the other young wizards of his day. Even Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived(twice), was pleasant when they met occasionally on the street. Not that Draco was anything but cool back. He couldn't bring himself to be personable when he imagined Ginny looking at Harry with that adoration she'd given him back at Hogwarts.
It was stupid, being angry with Potter over something as silly as a girl. But he was a Malfoy man, and possessiveness and pride passed down through generation after generation of refined, aristocratic people coursed through his veins like fire.
He wanted Ginny Weasley. And he intended on someday having her.
Somehow.
He checked his watch, pulling back the long sleeve of his robe and tugging off his black glove. His white hand was streaked with beads of sweat.
It was 6:34. Any minute now.
There was the sound of a door creaking open.
He winced, dreading the pain that was coming.
"Gin!"
One of the witches at the bar called out in a very warm tone. Draco turned, the sweat new again on his forehead. He hurriedly pulled the hood of his cloak up, but though his pale face was shadowed by the fabric, his gray eyes were piercing.
A young witch was crossing the floor of the pub, her burgundy cloak billowing out behind her, and all eyes were soon following her every movement. She had long, vivid red hair that was tied back in a loose braid, allowing strands to fall and shimmer around her pale, lightly freckled face. She had chocolate brown eyes that glowed with humor and warmth, and today she wore eyeliner, which made them bright and commanding in her face. Draco tried not to let his gaze stray to her lips, but today they were shaded with crimson lipstick and twisted into a confident smile. They sent a pang through him, and he had to close his eyes for a moment so that he didn't leap up and take her on the spot. He didn't want to remember how they'd felt that one night a year ago.
"Hi, Angie." Ginny called.
She'd reached the bar. She was wearing a tight, knee length, sleeveless black dress, though it was freezing outside. He felt his mouth open, but he could not close it. She was not a person. She had to be some sort of...some sort of something sent to torture him for all of his past crimes. The ones he'd been running from and trying to block out for years.
She swept off her cloak, shivering slightly, and leaned her elbow on the bar with a sigh. "Sorry I'm late. Got caught up in practice."
"What are you wearing?" The blonde witch asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Ginny, it's thirty degrees outside. What the hell is that?" Angelina laughed.
"Oh please. It's like summer out there." Ginny waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. They all laughed at this.
Heat had rushed up to Draco's face, and he watched her with greedy eyes. Notice me, he begged her, c'mon, Ginger.
She didn't turn around.
"Whoa, Malfoy, you look like you're gonna crush that glass." A voice beside him chuckled.
Annoyance swept through Draco, and he turned, instinctively reaching his for his wand.
A round-faced boy looked at him, his cheeks red with cold. Longbottom. Draco relaxed his fingers, setting his half-empty glass on the counter. "Whoops." He forced a chuckle. Neville's dark eyes were prying, but he smiled widely. "How's Borgin's?" He asked casually, leaning back on his bar stool. Draco thought. Dark, cold, slightly terrifying, but still popular among former Death Eaters and those who studied dark magic.
"Fine." He said.
"Good." Neville replied.
"How're the Aurors?" Draco asked politely.
Neville's cheerful face darkened for a moment before he smiled, again. "Great." Draco narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but before he could say anything, there was a shuffling behind him.
"Let's go. We don't want to be late." Ginny said.
Draco's heart thudded violently. No, no... he moaned inwardly.
She was leaving, her sweet, flowery scent making his knees weak as she walked away, half-hidden by her cluster of friends. He'd wasted all his time.
Every Friday, she came here, and he watched her. Remembering. He treasured every moment. Except for this one blasted time. She is not getting away again. He thought violently, biting his lip in frustration. He tasted blood seconds later.
He stood suddenly, his boots thudding loudly on the floor. A few heads turned his way, including her's.
Their eyes met, stormy gray to chocolate brown, and he wanted to say something, anything, to wipe the stunned and slightly fearful expression she wore off of her pretty face. He didn't want her to be afraid of him, or feel guilty for anything. Three words leapt into his throat.
I miss you. They bubbled to his lips but he swallowed them away. His cloak hood had fallen back. She could see him, he could see her. He felt the memory flash hot and painful in his mind.
It was December 11th, one year ago, all over again. The Christmas party at the manor, the one his mother had spend days setting up. He'd insisted on inviting Granger, Potter, and Weasley, as sort of an apology. A bold statement against his parents after they had controlled him for so long. Potter had been away on some sort of stake out, already an Auror thanks to Kingsley. Ginny was supposed to have come to the party with him, she'd already had the dress, which was long and white and made her look like an angel. It had been the first time he'd seen her since his graduation. Do you want to dance? He'd asked, almost as a joke.
Yes. She'd said.
And everything had escalated from there. And then dawn had come, and she'd gone.
"Hi Draco." Ginny said, looking uncomfortable.
He blinked, returning to the present.
"Hi Ginger." He said softly.
Her friends were watching, their eyebrows raised.
"I didn't expect to see you here." She forced a smile.
"Me neither. You look good. Um, how's Potter?" He had no idea what to say.
She suddenly laughed, eyes sparkling like diamonds at some memory.
"He's alright. Tired. Work's been stressful. They caught an old witch who was murdering muggles and reanimating them to do housework last Wednesday. He was out all night." She was grinning now. Her front teeth were delightfully crooked. Adorably crooked.
"Sounds interesting. Fun, even." He said, smirking.
She laughed again. "Draco Malfoy, you are horrible."
He laughed with her this time, a genuine, from the bottom of his stomach laugh.
Angelina set a dark hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Hey, we have to catch the concert. I spent two months saving up for these tickets." Angelina's black eyes were fastened accusingly on Draco's. Ginny nodded, looking awkward again. "Right. Well, see you around, Draco. And you, Neville. Hello." She smiled, peering over Draco's shoulder. "Hi Gin." Neville said.
She then turned to her smirking friends, and the group swept from the building.
With Ginny gone, the warmth and happiness that had seemed to fill the little pub went sour and promptly died. In reality, it was just Draco who really noticed that she was gone.
He was no longer in the mood for a drink.
What seemed like hours after Ginny left, when in reality it was about ten minutes, he finished his one glass of firewhiskey and told Neville he'd better get home. "Hey, Malfoy?" Neville said hopefully as Draco pulled up his hood.
"Yeah?"
"All of us Hogwarts graduates are having a Christmas party at Harry's next Saturday and I'm supposed to do all of the invites. Well, I keep forgetting to write cards, so I thought I'd just ask you. You know, while I'm thinking about it." Neville smiled.
Draco wasn't really in the mood for a party, but an idea struck him as his lips formed the word "No."
Ginny would be there. Maybe she'd wear white again. Maybe she'd dance with him.
"Sure, Neville, I'd love to come." He said with as real a smile as he could muster. Neville grinned back. "Excellent."
Walking down the dark streets of Hogsmeade, he felt utterly alone. The sun had just set, and the sky was cobalt blue with jets of blood-red light shining across it. Stars were only just visible, and a bright full moon was slowly edging into the sky. It was a lovely night.
The shops around him were nearly all dark, save a few other pubs and, surprisingly, Honeydukes. There were a few people milling about inside, no doubt stocking up on Christmas candy. Wreathes and lanterns filled with tiny fairies were hung in windows all around him, and the people who walked by him were bundled in warm clothes, clutching bags filled with presents or food.
He wondered how he looked, his hands empty of gifts, his face grim and pale, his entire demeanor the exact opposite of everyone else. He was, in someways, truly alone. He wanted to laugh, laugh at the cruelty of the world. It would be better than shutting down like he had.
Draco Apparated to his doorstep. The crushing sensation in his chest barely fazed him. And, as it had become a tradition every Friday, he began stewing over his predicament. Why couldn't he just...let her go?
Because she's beautiful. His mind reasoned. No, that wasn't it. There were plenty of pretty witches. He could charm every single one if he wanted.
Because she's smart. There were other pretty, smart witches around. That wasn't it.
Because she's funny. There were pretty, smart, funny witches. He could find one.
Like Ginny? No. And there was the problem. None of them WERE her. God, that was sappy. It was completely the opposite of what he would have thought at Hogwarts. Well, that had been a very long time ago.
It was one night, Malfoy. Pull yourself together. He sighed, resting a hand on his doorknob and leaning his head against the wood. Yes, it had been just one night. One silly, throw-away night when he'd been full of firewhiskey and she'd been lonely without Potter. To add to that, it had been last year. God, He thought, what is wrong with me?
He was broken from his thoughts by a rustling inside his house. His eyes snapped open and he drew out his wand, alert as a cat watching a mouse hole.
He threw open the door, peering into the darkness. "Lumos." He whispered. His wand suddenly sparked, a small orb of light shining from the tip. He slowly stepped inside, running the jet of blue light over the small room. It was completely quiet, and not a thing was out of place.
"Stupefy!" Screamed a deep, male voice. Draco went limp as a rag doll, and he slipped out of consciousness. The last thing he heard was his body crashing to the ground.