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Chapter 2: The time has come
Just one more kiss
and I'll be gone
I won't write
I won't call you no more girl
I swear that I'll be strong
Draco woke with a start.
It was not a startling wake, like the kind you got when you were caught in the middle of a nightmare. Instead, it was the kind of wake that you just opened your eyes and looked at the ceiling, knowing exactly where you were, what time it was and what were you supposed to do. Draco stared at the canopy of his four-poster, blinked, and sat up, wasting no time twisting and turning among the sweat-soaked sheets.
He was a very disciplined boy and seldom slept in. But it was rare, even for him, to wake up so readily. With a finger he pushed open the curtains a little and peeked out. The candles had long dwindled to small tads of wax, the window provided no light- it was too late for the moon and too early for the sun to grace the sky with their presences. The dungeon was pitch dark.
He raked the curtains aside roughly, not caring in the least bit that he might disturb his roommates. But then, his roommates consisted of two of the largest pigs Hogwarts ever admitted, and nothing short of a thunder could have disturbed their sleeps. He sat at the brim of his bed, hands clutching the sheets and the warmth that lingered on them. With enormous effort he released his grip on the final, pleasant sensation, and pulled himself from the bed. He gave an involuntary shudder as his bare toes touched the ice-cold stone.
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Just one more taste of you
and I'll be fine
Girl, I mean what I say today about tomorrow
I know I was lying
Cos baby, oh-
I only wish you knew
how this feeling scares me so
It's just like letting, it's just like letting go
The window also felt icily cold against his forehead.
He had always liked this window. It was charmed to be there, of course, for the dormitories of Slytherin were located at the bottom of the castle, in the dungeons. But the window was charmed to look like the one in the Owlery. Through it he could see the high skies, the top of the swaying pines at the edge of the Forest, and occasionally an owl would fly past. It was such a strange feeling, to touch the glass, to look out as if he were on the top of the castle, while in reality he was at the very bottom of it, and behind the magnificent scenery it was just an ugly wall.
But still he liked the window. He leaned closer to it, breathing a circle of dewy mist onto the glass. It was freezing against his cheek. Hard and freezing. His cheek would probably turn pink soon, but look! It was such a tranquil morning. The trees were still, the winds were still, the skies were still. Not one thing out of place.
Crabbe turned in his bed and murmured something.
Draco found this amusing. Ol' Crabbe, always murmuring under his breath even when he was awake. About food, very likely. In two hours time he would woke up and have breakfast with everyone else in the Great Hall, eating to his heart's content. Content! A blissful word, made for a simple guy like old Crabbe! Draco wanted to laugh, and turned back to his motionless sky in an attempt to suppress the urge.
The sky was not moving at all. Or maybe it was? Like cotton in an overstuffed pillow, the clouds weighed the sky down, pulling it closer to the earth. It was brightening slowly, ever so slowly. The sky turned from navy blue into a milky gray, stretching to the end of Forest into a pearly, almost silver white. However the clouds remained defiantly deep gray, a melancholy kind of color that reminded Draco of his dead grandfather. He used to wear a worn, gray corduroy beret, even when he was struggling to breath on a gigantic bed in St. Mungo's. Yes, the sky did look sick today, and it seemed to Draco that it could not hold its tears any longer.
Tears, lightning, thunderclaps, raging mad winds that rattle windows- he could see it now. And he could picture Ginny's reaction: the moment she got up she would swore furtively at the sky, for she hated lightning bolts. Not the rain, not thunderclaps, but the bolts that struck the Hogwarts ground now and then...
He stopped and closed his eyes wearily.
Ginny.
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And I guess if that's addiction
then I guess that I'm addicted
and I guess that I'm your junkie, fair enough
And I guess if that's addiction
then I guess that I'm your junkie
and I guess I'm just strung out on your love
His strength, his power. His reason to be alive.
His weakness.
How could he be so foolish? It's so blatant, so obvious that she was everything to him. So obvious that a troll could have spotted it effortlessly, and this, was saying something.
Draco opened his eyes again. There were always plenty of 'what-would-have-been's, but they rarely worth the misery one had to go through to think about them. There was no point in thinking about her, no point in torturing himself further. Not now anyways. He'd have plenty of time for that later, this he was sure.
Yeah, right.
Have you ever felt out of control? Feeling powerless even to make the teeniest decision, and the mind just took over and wandered, though you really didn't want it to. That's how Draco felt, with his face pressing against the pane, glancing out through the mist and seeing nothing. It was early. So early in the dawn, even the plants had to be asleep. Complete silence and solitude.
No one would see. No one would catch you...
Wrapping his arms around himself and feeling the coldness piercing his cheek, he surrendered to memories.
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Girl I can't sleep in these wet sheets
Cos I've got hot flushes, cold sweats
And a hunger that's making me weak
So hit me up with your best stuff
He must have a pretty good memory, for he could still see every trivial details on that day, the day some high power up there decided to mess his life up a bit.
It was a beautiful spring afternoon. It was really a very beautiful afternoon, beautiful in a sense that everyone was idly basking in the sun outdoors, too lazy to do anything. He was striding down a long hallway, one that had these gigantic arches leading to the mint-green meadows. He remembered looking across the lawn and to his disgust saw Granger and Weasley kissing under a tree, in the shadows, where they thought no one would see. He snorted.
It bothered him that everyone was having their time outside. Robes in different colors entertaining themselves with various activities in the disturbingly bright sunrays, on the lush-green pasture. He turned away, the sight almost hurt him. Don't they have anything else better to do? He wondered. But of course they didn't. He was the only one around with a family and a responsibility, naturally.
At least I can look forward to having the Common Room all to myself,he consoled himself, and continued his journey with a sulk on his face.
"I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opens,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals-
I know what the caged bird feels!"
This helps every single time. Poetry. He was about to cite the second verse when something hit him hard in the midriff.
"Ooof!" He moaned and clutched his stomach with a hand, but managed to stand. Whoever bumped into him was less lucky. Parchments and quills and books were scattered all over the corridor. Quickly he regained his composure and stood straighter, powering up his glare with full Slytherin malice, and directed it at the small figure on the floor.
Oh, he could recall it now. It was a girl who ran into him. She scrambled up with as much dignity as possible, and began to pick up her stuff. Her hair was sticking out at some odd angles, and was wilder than he had ever seen a girl's hair. He stood there and watched her bending and picking up the parchments.
"For Merlin's sakes!" She was exclaiming, out of breath. "As if I am not late enough- oh you frigging piece of paper!" Pulling herself to her tallest, the flying piece of parchment seemed just beyond her hand's reach.
He watched, amused, at the girl tiptoeing and jumping, making her messy red ringlets bounce. Yes, her hair was of a patent Weasley red, and it was gleaming in the afternoon sun. He was torn between amusement and the urge to make a snide remark. Finally, he reached out and easily caught the flying parchment. She snatched it out of his hand.
"Oh thanks so much sweetie," she planted a kiss on his cheek. "I'd have bought you a Butterbeer, but I'm so late for detention-" she called as she ran down the hallway, heels clicking on the stony ground. As the last of her swishing robes disappeared around the corner, he touched his cheek in slow motion.
She had not seen him. Not probably enough to recognize him anyway. For it was wrong, it was almost against the law of nature for a Weasley to kiss a Malfoy. But she did it, and Draco knew it was not some bizarre dream, as the little wet spot simmered under his fingertips.
He stood there for a full three minutes, and when he finally did move, he suddenly realized that he had not taken points off an offending Griffindor, not even a scathing comment. And Merlin knows, that's against the law of nature, too.
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All I need is a dime bag of attention
And maybe an ounce of your trust
Cos letting go is harder than you know
I'm tearing out my heart
To give my heart to you
As you walk right out of view
That was in his fifth year. Two years ago. The year that the Dark Lord arose again, and his father was flung into Askaban. Fate had decided to place a little joke in his life that year. She would not have kissed him if Crabbe and Goyle were with him that afternoon. They would have exchanged insults, and everything would have been different. Not fine, but different.
Since that encounter he became more aware of Virginia Weasley. He was surprised at his blindness before- this girl was practically transforming in front of his eyes, like a butterfly struggling out from her worn, paper-brown cocoon. She was no longer tagging along with Potter and Granger and her own brother, but was often found to be by her own. She was changing indeed, and was barely recognizable as the tiny girl bursting in fury when he insulted her precious Potter in his second year. She soared gracefully on her own, he remembered, when they were on the Quidditch pitch. He wished to track her, catch her, follow her into the sun.
He did not catch the Snitch in that match.
How scared he was during that summer! His father was in Azkaban, his mother crying her eyes out. Above all, he missed her. It was a terrible, terrible experience. Unimaginable dismay filled his head, then his limbs, paralyzing him every morning when he woke up to find that she had visited him in his dreams again. When he was reciting poems, she was there to listen. When he was there puking into the bowl at the middle of the night, she was there patting his back. How scared he was! He had fallen for her.
His mother brought him into his father's study every night. He was to face the family tree of Malfoy, and swear never to betray the family's sake. "You are a good boy, Draco," his mother would coo, combing his blond hair with her bony fingers. "You are the Malfoy's hope, Draco. Don't fail, don't fail."
On 31st August, the final day of his summer vacation, he pulled on his first mask and joined his father's comrades- those who had not been arrested, lurking among unsuspecting wizards and witches, buying their time- and thrusted into Azkaban.
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You go through my heart and through my soul
like a river gone out of control
It takes my resolve and washes it all away
All away
All away
His heart fluttered. It was not a bad feeling, having your heart fluttering, like a thousand little Snitches were flying around in your ribcage. Crushing the yellowish note in his hand, he could not help but split his face into a broad smile, his first true smile in months. Seeing the horrified looks on Crabbe and Goyle, he grinned wider, but restrained from laughing out loud for fear that his dear friends would faint.
I have to be the happiest person in the world, he thought as he skipped down the flight of stairs leading to the main entrance. He skipped and hummed, but stopped slowly as a grim realization dawned on him.
What if it was all a joke? What if she thought that it would make a good laugh out of me? Potter may be there, even, pointing his wand at me while Weasley laughs his head off. As he discreetly inched towards the place, hiding himself in the shadows and peering from behind the leaves, such grotesque thoughts passed through his mind, so quickly that he could not pay attention to every one of them. What if she just mistook me for another boy? What if that's what it is, she is seeing another boy?
His poor heart almost stopped when he arrived. There she was, alone, no sight of Potter or Weasel. Her red hair was gently draping all over her face as she bowed her head and was clearly engrossed in whatever book she was reading. The late afternoon rays were shining through the pine needles, casting a majestic glow around her body. For a moment, he thought he had seen an angel.
"You are late," she accused when he walked out from the woods, and closed her book with a hasty 'thud'.
He noticed how she tensed up, and felt his own mouth going dry. "I-" that came out too husky. He tried again. "I got your note."
"Of course you did, why would you be here if you didn't?" She snapped, looking up and meeting his eyes for the first time. Sparks were flying from her hazel pupils, and Draco could not look away. She was not beautiful, she was perfect. Even when she was fuming.
The two of them locked their gazes for a moment, both unsure of what to say. Clearing her throat, Ginny looked away and fumbled a piece of parchment out of her robes.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Draco knew that parchment. On it he scribbled a poem during Potions. He shrugged, eyes not taken off her face.
"I don't have time to envelop it properly," he explained. "I wrote that in Potions."
"That's not what I'm asking. I want to know why did you write a poem and slip it to me? When we're having lunch, too! Oh, if Ron saw you he will-"
"He will what, hex me?" He balled his hands into tight fists, willing himself not to grab her shoulder and kiss her hard. She was so near to him, so near that it seemed surreal. He turned his eyes onto the ground, finding the fact that he could do nothing even when she was so close ironic. He sneered at the twigs. "Listen, I don't care what your brother thinks. All I care is what you think."
"Oh yeah? Why do you care what I think? It's not like you know my name or something until last month," she put the poem back into her pocket carefully. But this Draco did not see.
"That's not true," he muttered, once again looking her in the eyes.
She was obviously trying hard to keep her gaze unfaltering. "The truth is that you've been very childish, sending me hate-mails all the time. And now this," she blinked and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
He lost it, right there and then. Because of what, until today the answer was still unbeknownst to him- perhaps it was her innocent look. He grabbed her hands and pushed her against the crude trunk, and started to kiss her roughly on the lips. She was heavenly to him, her lips were not too moist, but soft enough. She had never kissed before, as the thought flew across his mind, he felt an ecstasy so pure and he became whole again. When she parted her lips, begging for air, he slipped in. She tasted of nectar, and his head reeled. He could feel her legs wobbling, and gently turned the passionate ravish into a loving, comforting kiss, before leaving her lips entirely.
They stood there, speechless. To her credit, Ginny had not made any attempt to slap him. She just leaned against his chest and gasped for air. The Forest was suddenly so tranquil, and the only sound was their raspy, ragged breathing. He loosened his grip on her wrists a bit.
"They aren't hate-mails," he said once he felt brave enough to.
"Oh," she whispered, face still in his robes.
"They are all poems," he continued. "If only you'd taken a little of your time to actually read-"
He stopped when she looked up finally. Her slightly swollen lips drove something terribly like guilt up his chest. She pulled back, and he had no choice but to release her hands. She took a step back.
Her gesture hurt him. How he wished to pull her back into his arms, and feel the warmth and softness that was her body again. However, there was nothing to be done now, he should not have kissed her. He should not have come in the first place. He should never, ever have fallen in love with her.
"It's- it's okay, I understand," he gulped bitterly and turned to leave. "I understand."
"W-wait," she called hesitantly. Draco could tell by her voice that she wished she hadn't. He turned, dread filling his eyes.
"That's a kiss," she said lamely, taking a step towards him.
"Yeah," and the last ever one at that, he mused.
"So, you like me," she said, her voice shaking with uncertainness. She took another step.
"Yeah," no, I don't like you. More than that. Draco watched as she moved to him in snail pace, and wondered idly where this conversation was heading.
She did not reply, but walked to him until they were barely an inch apart. It was too much for him, almost. He turned once more, to bail from this untouchable angel, to hide and tend his wounds in the safety of his lair.
"Don't!" She said, and grasped his right wrist. He looked at her, torn in pain and surprise. Couldn't she tell she was making this more difficult for him? Her hand was like red-hot iron.
"What now, Weasley," he said the name with all the hatred he possessed, and hoped she did not catch the hint of pleading deep in his voice. "Let me go, I am wasting my time."
She let him go, and for the first time of their meeting her voice broke. Hoarse from emotion- whether anger or pity, he did not want to know- she cried, "Well I am sorry I wasted your time! I just wanted to say we can try it out!"
Were his ears deceiving him? He dared not look back. "What, what did you just say?" He did not sound like himself, the emotion-in-voice thing must be contagious.
"I just said, we may give it a try. We may be able to sort it out. We may be able to..." she sobbed, and when Draco looked back, his heart wrenched in the sight of her tears. He raced to her and, unable to contain himself, pulled her into a tight embrace.
"I just thought maybe, just maybe you may want to try-" she cried in his chest.
"I am sorry, I am sorry." How could he express his guilt and regret enough? He had hurt her before they even started.
"But I am wasting your time," she said, slightly slurred by her sobs, "I just want to see if that would work out-"
"I know," he said, hugging her tighter and showering her hair with kisses. "I know."
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And I guess if that's addiction
then I guess that I'm addicted
and I guess that I'm your junkie, fair enough
And I guess if that's addiction
then I guess that I'm your junkie
and I guess I'm just strung out on your love
He now knew too, something he did not know before. He should never have fallen in love with her. Even if he did, he should not have written her those poems, should not have kissed her- just the way he shouldn't have thought about her right now. But he was a mere human, after all, and had so many weaknesses. Weaknesses that his father had always warned him about. Weaknesses that brought failure insufferable in the sight of his family.
He shook his head and ran a hand through his blond hair. Slowly he crept away from the window, and turned to face the dungeon again. Crabbe and Goyle were still snoring in their beds. It was a Saturday, and they would sleep in and wake up at ten for breakfast. They would join other Slytherins in Hogsmeade.
They would probably run into Ginny, too. He thought as he pulled over his ankle-long black robes and tied his hair into a neat ponytail.
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Don't walk away baby
Don't walk away baby
Don't walk away baby
Don't walk away (I'm addicted)
Yeah, yeah
I am addicted
I am addicted, yeah
I am addicted, yeah--
The sky remained dark, there would be a storm later. But the hours matched on, and on, and on.
He hastily draped the dark green cloak across his broad shoulders. Marching towards the door, he threw the chamber one last glance.
The time has come...
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