world crumbling beneath (our) weary feet
::prologue::
He hates himself for walking away.
Draco knows that he's never been very good with confrontation. He hates situations in which he is backed up against a wall without only a tiny breath of space between himself and an opposing force, because he always ends up saying something cowardly. Or, in other words, he declares things in such a way that would bring shame to his father's name.
He's running on molten hot ground, the pavement shuddering beneath his polished shoes. Everything is falling apart - the castle is in shambles and he can hear the foreign mumblings of the giants, the screeching of the arachnids. Flames are licking up the tapestries, and for a moment he feels like a first year.
Draco Malfoy actually feels scared.
It's as if he's eleven years old again, and entering Hogwarts through the use of those blasted, leaking boats. It's as if he's dumbfounded, like it's all too good to be true. Except this time, he's eighteen years old, and the castle that has grown to become his - reluctant - home is crumbling to the ground.
Now he hears his mother's voice calling him from the Dark Lord's ranks, and everyone's eyes are turning towards him. It's as if he's eleven years old again, wishing to hide behind his mother's skirts. Except this time he's standing at six feet, his chin covered with scrubble, and his blonde hair unruly. This time soot covers his ivory skin, and there's a cut under his mother's eye that is bleeding a trail down towards her neck.
This time, he actually has to take a side.
"Draco." His mother is pleading with him, and as he looks at the blood on her face, Draco feels a spurt of rage.
Whoever dared to hurt her will pay. He will curse them into oblivion, kill them with the simple flick of his wrist. Normally he would hesitate, because as much as he tries to deny it, the idea of stealing someone's life sickens him. But this is his mother, and there is nothing he won't do to protect her.
"Running away again?"
Her voice stops him, and he loathes the cold hate in it. She hates who he's become, and he deserves it.
"You wouldn't understand, Weasley."
He turns, and she's standing there on the top of the stairwell, her red hair a floppy mess about her freckled face, dirt surrounding those chestnut eyes. There's blood smeared on her arms, and Draco supposes he should be more concerned for her safety, but at this point he just wants to get away.
"At least I'm out there trying to help," Ginny spits, taking a step towards him. Of course she would take the first step; it's how she's always been, courageous, far too bold for her own good.
"No one asked you to," he tells her, and he wants to be angry, but he can't find the energy. "At least you have people that would mourn your death, Weasley. Potter would curse me the moment I stepped in his path, and my parents would never find my body. They'll be too busy running."
Ginny shakes her head, "I wouldn't cry if you died, Malfoy," typical Weasley, "but things would never be the same."
There's more crumbling sounds, and the roof begins to crack right above her. He's running forward before he can help himself and -
"Draco, let's go," his mother calls again.
She's pretending to be so calm, but Draco can read the fear in her eyes as she glances nervously at his father, her husband. She knows as well as her son does what the penalty will be for all of them if he chooses to side with Hogwarts against the Dark Lord. There is no mercy for opposition, this they know.
The Dark Lord is studying him now with those narrowed eyes, and Draco's skin crawls uncomfortably.
He takes a hesitant step forwards, and a slow gasp rises up from the students surrounding him. Eyes fill with loathing, and girls whisper "I always knew he was a traitor" under their breath.
- he pushes her into the wall, then pushes her away before he can get her scent all over his clothing.
"See," Ginny breathes, "there is still good in you."
She looks as though she might want to touch him on the cheek, perhaps kiss him for his kind act, but he knows she won't. That's a line neither of them will ever cross, because she's always belonged to Potter, and Draco Malfoy will always be the cowardly nemesis.
"Go back to Potter," he snarls, backing away from her.
Her eyes light with anger, "So you won't stay and fight. Maybe if you'd stop being such a coward for once, maybe you would be more accepted. Maybe we could forgive you for everything you've done!"
Draco laughs, bitterly.
"I will never be forgiven," he says, and it's true.
Then he's gone, whipping his cloak over his shoulder as he stalks down the hallway in the direction of the nearest broken window he can use to sneak out.
"Good, Draco," the Dark Lord croons, pulling him into an embrace as he steps onto the opposing side.
Draco can't move a muscle, is too afraid - or furious, this he can't determine - to do anything but stand there and accept that he'll always be the bad guy.
A tugging on his arm, and his parents are pulling him away, telling him it's time to go. His vision is blurring, but he manages to survay the remains of the castle, the burning remains, and wonder how anyone could destroy something that meant so much to him.
And that's when he sees her, and her expression is a punch in the gut.
He heard her scream when she saw Potter's dead body, but now she's not crying, just standing there with eyes full of pain. When her eyes meet his they darken even further and her lips press together. He can practically imagine her saying "how could you do something like this, Draco?"
It's like a punch in the gut, because he deserves it. She hates him, truly hates him, and he'll always deserve it. Ginny should know by now that he'll never change.
And with that thought in mind, he allows his parents to lead him away from the burning remains of Hogwarts.
He hates himself for walking away.
A/n: So, this is going to be multi-chaptered, because I haven't written Draco/Ginny in a long time, and I felt like it was time to uncover them. Anyways, I hope this was an adequate prologue, and I'll post more soon.