It has come to my attention that several people are confused with chapters 8-10. They are quite intentional I assure you, I took the idea from Meyer's Twilight saga when Bella and Edward split up so . . . yah, sorry about the confusion. But now we have chapter 11

Waking up

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Draco had been watching Ginevra Weasley for the past few months. She was not who she used to be; this new Ginevra hardly ever spoke. And when she did, it was in hushed, forced tones. She quit quidditch; she walked by herself; she never smiled. Something had happened that much was obvious. He had thought at first that Voldemort had simply tired of her, but that thought was quickly erased. The Dark Lord still erupted in anger at any red head he saw; he cursed Bellatrix for calling Ginny a whore and the woman was bedridden for two weeks. Apparently, Ginevra was still on the Dark Lord's mind, whether they were talking or not. So Draco was still intent on befriending her, for his own gains. So far, all his efforts had been fruitless, it was as if the girl had put herself on autopilot.

It was time for extreme measures.

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Her days were routine.

Wake up.

Shower.

Dress.

Eat.

Classes.

Lunch.

Classes.

Homework.

Bed. No free time. She allowed herself no time where her mind could simply wander. She kept her thoughts strictly on school and repeating the phrase "he's gone. . .he's gone." She didn't think she'd ever have a normal life again. In fact, there was really no point in living anymore at all . . .

That sneaky idea had wormed its way inside her head and itched to be contemplated. So she did just that, contemplated it. What if? What if she just took her own life?

She woke up on the last day of her life, oddly at peace, more peaceful than she had been in a while. She went through her daily routine one last time. She didn't cry, but was rather relieved that this was the last time she would have to endure all this. She paid more attention to what she was about to leave behind.

This was to shower. This was to dress. This was mascara, this was blush.

This was to force down food so her peers would not question.

This was to go to class.

This was to do homework that she would never turn in.

This was to grab her broom and sneak out.

This was to rise higher in the air than she had ever been.

This was wind in her hair.

This was closing her eyes and enjoying something for the first time in months.

Then, with a terrible rip in her mind, all the memories she had managed to block were flooding her thoughts. She shut her eyes hard. She would not cry, it would all be over in a minute.

This was sitting on a broom, thousands of feet in the air.

This was pushing herself off and falling.

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Draco's 'extreme measures' meant tailing Ginny closely. One such day, she looked oddly peaceful. Scarred and hollow, yes, but as if she had come to terms with whatever had left her for dead. Maybe she was getting over it. Just to be sure, he would tail her for a few more days.

He had head boy duty that night and, like always, he was patrolling the Gryffindor corridor, as was his frequent haunt. But this night was different. It was what he had been waiting for! There she was, Ginevra Weasley, slipping out from behind a portrait. He stood against the wall, in the shadows, not wanting to scare her into going back behind the portrait. She walked with a broom in hand, her gait smooth and serene, oddly enchanting . . . he shook the last thought out of his head.

He followed her from a distance all the way to the quidditch pitch. She flew high and then higher still. What was she doing? And then she pushed herself off.

Holy shit!

He had to do something!

She was falling quickly. He pulled out his wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he yelled, putting all his force into the spell to deflect the velocity her fall had gained. She jerked and stopped in mid-air. She lay limp and Draco lowered her to the ground.

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She was falling. It was amazing. The only time she had felt this alive was when she was with Tom. The thought only affirmed her decision. Then suddenly her body hit something. This wasn't the ground, it was too soon after she had jumped, it felt like she had hit some invisible wall. Her neck jerked up and she blacked out.

She woke up in a room with dark mahogany furniture and dark green drapes ad hangings on the bed.

Was this Heaven?

. . . No . . .

Heaven would have black furniture and deep black sheets, not green. Heaven would have a bottle of some exotic liquor on the shelf by a bookcase. Heaven would have a fire roaring in the hearth. Heaven would have that deep black armchair just to the left of the fireplace. Heaven would have a burn in the carpet by the bedside table, from a cigarette, accidentally dropped in a heat of passion.

No, this was not heaven.

She sighed.

She had wanted it to be over. There was a time when this predicament would have excited her. She would have reveled in the mystery and adventure and the simple elegance of the room. But now she was just upset that she had to think.

She sat up and immediately laid back down as the blood rush to her head was unbearable. She put a hand to her forehead.

Oh Tom, why did you have to leave me?

The door opened.

"Tom?"

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Draco had just gone down to breakfast and had brought some back up with him for the girl. He opened the door.

"Tom?" he heard her ask; her voice so pathetic and tender and hopeful. He winced in pity for the poor girl.

"No, it's me, Draco," he explained gently as he walked in.

"Oh." The disappointment in her voice was not disguised. "Why am I here?" she asked. The words sounded forced, as if she had not spoken in years.

"I saved you last night. Then you wouldn't wake up, so I brought you here."

"Saved me?" she said in sardonic, bitter amusement. She pulled herself up to recline against the pillows in a half sitting position.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, harsher than he had intended at the ungrateful girl before him. She turned her head and fixed her hollow brown eyes on him pointedly. She looked like she was dying; it was quite a chilling gaze. She held his eyes a while before speaking.

"My death was to be my salvation," she said, looking away. Draco put the plate he had brought her on the bedside table. She looked at it but didn't touch it.

"Why in the world would you try to kill yourself? Whatever happened, it can't have been that bad." Ginny's body produced a ghostly bitter laugh that chilled him to the bones. Not at all the laugh he had yearned to hear more of that day at the manor. They both cringed at the sound.

"It is that bad. I don't want to do this anymore," she said calmly.

"Do what? Live?" he scoffed. "I figured the girl that had ensnared the Dark Lord would be a bit stronger than that."

"You don't understand," she said angrily. He snorted.

"Whatever." Apparently, the only emotion the girl knew besides misery was anger.

"You're pretty fucked up, Malfoy. You should've just left well enough alone." She glared at him.

"I'm fucked up? Excuse me but, I'm not the one jumping off of brooms here," he said haughtily. She drew herself up as indigently as she could while being under heavy blankets.

"Like you could ever understand."

"Make me."

"Make you what?"

"Understand." He looked at her intently and sat on the end of the bed, nowhere near her. She looked at him in a different way now, like she was adding him up. She didn't offer an explanation, but her whole demeanor changed. Very civilly, she asked if the breakfast on the plate was for her.

"Yes, it is," he answered. And though he could tell she didn't want to, she ate a few bites, to thank him for bringing it to her. He smiled.

"Thank you," he said. She raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"Eating." He still wore a half smile. She gazed at him steadily. The same dead look. But his smile was infectious. The corner of her mouth twitched and half of her mouth turned up in a smile. Draco broke out into a full grin, he was sure she hadn't smiled in months. But as soon as it was there, it was gone, and she was staring at her food confused.

How could she smile when Tom was not with her? Her half attempt at a smile fell and she looked down at her hands, confused. What was happening?

"Its okay, you know. You're allowed to be happy," Draco said encouragingly. Her eyes filled with tears.

"I don't know how to without him . . ."

"How to what? Be happy?"

"Anything. I don't know how to feel without him!" she said, frustrated, tears rolling down her face. "Except for sad," she added as an afterthought. Draco felt a sudden surge of anger at his Lord and master that had left her like this. He found he wanted very badly to make this girl in front of him happy again, to hear the care free beautiful laugh he had heard before, not the dry, dead laugh she had made a few minutes ago.

"I'll teach you," he said, surprising himself. Ginny looked at him with a caged curiosity and then burst into proper sobs.

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It was as if somebody had taken a veil out from in front of her eyes. She began to look sideways as she walked to her classes, letting her eyes wander from thing to thing as opposed to staring down or straight forward. A slight variation occurred in her routine: after class, she would visit Draco.

Draco felt an odd protectiveness for the girl he had been spending all his nights with. He wanted to heal that large open wound she was carrying around with her. It had been killing her, almost had at one point, but he felt it closing up. She smiled some now, not often, but sometimes. And every time she did, he soared. A wonderful airy feeling filled his stomach and his chest and lifted him. Everything about her endeared her to him. She was incredibly funny and witty, without even trying. She would say something he found humorous and he would laugh and she would make adorable confused faces, as if wondering why the hell he would laugh at something she said.

Her low self esteem was heartbreaking. She had been so vibrant and confident before, now she was quiet, accepting and any opinion she had was muttered without conviction. But she was coming out of that, with his help. He was proud of his accomplishments. He loved watching her coming out of her shell. He found himself oddly attached to her, even when he wasn't with her, he was thinking about her. She consumed his mind like a vapor unwilling to leave its vial. His friend, Blaise, asked him what was wrong with him, and all Draco could do was smile guiltily. Blaise knew. And slowly, Draco knew.

He loved her.

By the gods Draco Malfoy had fallen in love with this fallen angel. The angel discarded and left for dead by Lord fucking Voldemort. Ah, but an angel she was. Beautiful and perfect. She just needed to be reminded how to fly.

If he ever wanted her to even look at him in a fraction of the way he looked at her, she would need to get over the Dark Lord. He supposed he couldn't do it on his own. So he reminded her she had friends, people who cared about her that she had been ignoring all year.

"Just sit with them at breakfast and talk to them."

"I don't even know what to talk about!" she replied, distressed at his ludicrous proposal that she talk to anyone but him. "I talk to you and you're all I need!" she said stubbornly. His chest swelled with pride at her words but his reason kept him firm with his decision. She needed more than him. Without other people to take his place as a friend, he could never be more than just that, her friend.

"Just try it. For me?"

"Oh, Draco, don't make me!" she pleaded.

"One time, if it doesn't work out then you don't have to try it again." She glared at him moodily, crossing her arms in a wonderful imitation of a pouting Tom.

"Fine," she conceded.

And so it was that Ginny sat with Collin, Neville, Lavender, and Parvati at breakfast the next morning.

"Good morning," she greeted quietly, nervous. The four of them looked at her in shock. Parvati was the first to come around.

"Welcome back," she said with a grin. Collin also grinned; Neville laughed out loud.

"Great!" he said loudly, happily. Ginny smiled, shocked at the revelation that she had missed them. Lavender glared and turned back to her oatmeal. Well, she had missed three of them, anyways.

"Don't let her bother you," Neville said, not bothering to be discreet. "We're glad you're back. You're . . . okay now?" he asked, tentative. Ginny paused before answering.

"I'm working on it," she said softly.

"Brilliant!" Neville said animatedly and they included her as if she had never left. But they seemed so . . . childish . . . innocent. She would never be able to relate to them again . . . She sighed. This wasn't going to work. She would tell Draco she had tried.

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So? Let me know what you think!