Damn, I'm writing this fast. Of course, now I'm stuck, so that screws things up, but oh well. My buddy darklogick is pissed at me now, cuz we're writing a novel together, and I'm supposed to be writing the novel. Instead, I'm writing this! ::Shakes head:: Oh, well. This is almost done.
Part V He Flows Through the Forest
I had told Hermione about what Draco said to me. I felt I needed to tell somebody, and she seemed the most sensible to one to talk to. She listened to me, made interested noises in all the right places. I begged her not to tell Ron. I knew he would kill Draco if he ever found out what had happened between us. Hermione told me she wouldn't lie for me, but promised to never bring it up.
I sit by the fire, staring at it as the flames eat away at the wood, watching the heat reduce what was once part of a mighty pine tree to light gray ashes. Draco told me once that my hair reminded him of the colour of a flame in its closest proximity to the coals—he told me it glowed. Maybe it does, to him. I had a dream, once, that I was in a forest and I could hear him calling me, searching for me in the blackness of the trees. In the dream, I had burned with a painless red fire, and lit his way.
I haven't told him about that dream. I haven't told him about any of the dreams I have of him. The one where I watch him drown in a pool of his own blood; the one where he lies sprawled on his back while a circle of Death Eaters cut bloody graffiti over his pale chest; the one where I watch, helpless, as he shaves off his hair and then peels away his skin, trying to free himself from his shell of hardship and pain.
I never really tell him anything. When I do see him, when he manages to find me alone, where we can talk without being overheard, he does the telling. He tells me about his father, his childhood (or lack thereof), about what he wishes he'd done, what he wishes he could forget he'd ever done… I feel like I know all his secrets—and at the same time, I don't know him at all.
I know he loves me, even if he only ever told me the once. I see the way he stares at me when he thinks I'm not looking. He treats me the way I used to treat my stuffed toys, pouring out his hardships and never expecting me to say anything in return. Once in a while, I intervene to keep him from hurting himself. I don't know what to do. Around Draco, I feel helpless, like I can do nothing to heal him, nothing at all to make him see that the whole world is not cold and dark. So I listen.
I told him that I would learn to love him. But how can I? I don't even know him…
It's starting to clear up outside, and bright sunlight that now pours out of the clouds, contrasting beautifully against the dark gray sky, illuminating the rain into falling diamonds. A rainbow spreads over the lake, and reflects roughly on the lake's surface, slightly distorted by the water that still falls. I start to smile, then turn and scamper out of the dorm, out the door and into the rain.
I love the way the way everything looks right after a storm. The plants glitter, and the air is filled with the fragrant scent of damp soil. It always seemed to me that Earth was breathing a contented sigh, as if she had just taken a luxurious bath or eaten a delicious meal, and was now bursting with fertility. The last of the water rains down on me until I am soaked all the way through the thin cotton of my tee shirt, and I close my eyes and laugh out loud. As far as I am concerned, this is what spring is all about.
I see someone sitting beside the lake, standing up slowly and shoving something—it looks like a knife—into his belt. The sunlight catches the figure's hair as he clambers upright. It shines gold on the pale head… Draco!
"Draco!" I call, starting to jog towards him. He turns and sees me coming, then whirls around and begins running in the opposite direction, towards the Forbidden Forest. I pick up my pace and run after him, still calling his name.
"Draco!" He disappears into the foliage, and I charge after him, twigs, thorns and stray branches tugging at my clothes and tearing tiny holes in them. I finally spot him leaning against a large oak tree, and I slow down as I near him.
"Why are you running?" I demand, breathless. "You…"
I trail off as I notice that he is not even trying to listen to me. His right hand covers the inside of his other elbow protectively, and he stares off into the dark trees, as if in a trance. I push my soggy hair off my face, noting distractedly that the humidity has made it go curly again.
Draco finally turns to face me, icy blue eyes giving away nothing of what he is thinking. "Why did you follow me?" he asks softly, dangerously. His hand still covers his forearm, and I pull it away. Blood comes off onto my fingers from his wrist, and I turn my palm up to see the weird pattern it makes on my skin.
"You've been cutting yourself again, haven't you?" I demand sharply. I pull back his sleeve, to reveal several new slash marks across his wrist and arm. He says nothing still, just watches me as I run my hand up his arm and back down, then wipe the blood off my fingers onto the grass.
I start to push back the other sleeve of Draco's loose robe, but he yank his arm back. "Don't," he warns, but his voice is hesitant and cautious, carrying no threat. I pull him back and slide my fingers under the black fabric, but he pulls away again.
"I said don't!" This time his voice is desperate and angry, with me or simply with himself, I don't. This only convinces me to look again. He struggles as I pull his arm back to me a last time, but doesn't put any real effort into it. The flesh on the inside of his left elbow is paler than snow, with tiny blue and purple veins braiding under the translucent skin. It is as cut and scarred as his right, but one new gash in particular draws my attention.
There is a roughly cut G just below his elbow, still red and shiny from being cut open. I gasp and touch it, looking scrutinizing at the thick blood that comes way on my fingertip. Draco doesn't seem to even feel the pain from the gash, but watches me emotionlessly, calculating my reaction.
I let go of him and walk around behind him. He starts when he feels my hands grasp the collar of his robe and yank it roughly off his shoulders. Even under that, his shirt is almost as soaked as mine, becoming more so as water drops down on us still from the trees and the last of the rain. I drop his robe on the forest floor, then turn him around to face me.
"Ginny—" Draco starts to object as I reach around his waist and pull the sheathed knife away from his belt and throw it angrily on the ground.
"What else do you have?" I ask angrily, turning his around again and running my hands over his waistline, his back, his chest, searching for weapons or anything else incriminating. "Huh? What are you doing to yourself that you won't tell me about? You might as well let it out, you've told me everything else!" I am surprised at how bitter my voice sounds. Am I mad at Draco for telling me, mad at him for hurting himself, or just mad at myself for never recognizing that this was inevitable?
He finally sighs and grabs my shoulders, holding me away from him, his eyes cold. The effect of his gaze seems to turn all the water on my skin into a film of ice. "And why should you care?" he hisses at me. "What is it to you whether I bleed or don't bleed? Whether I live or die? Even when I told you I had saved you, I could still see that you hated me. You hate me even now, don't you?" He puts on his familiar smirk. "You're just mad at me for involving you in this, for making you feel a fraction of what I feel every day. Well, Ginny, welcome to my life. This is who I am, and if you don't like it, you can leave."
Draco lets me go and starts to walk away. "Draco. Draco!" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold, though the air is warm and moist. "Draco, wait! Will you just let me talk?"
He slows down, but does not stop or turn around. "Why should I? You never have anything to say." His voice is so bitter it's like a slap in the face, and I feel tears stinging the corners of my eyes.
"Draco, please…"
He turns slightly to look at me, but keeps walking.
You love me, don't you?
Yes. But you don't love me.
"Do you have something significant to tell me?" he asks silkily. "Because if you don't, I'm going to keep walking, and nothing you can do will stop me. Maybe you'll see me again, maybe you won't. Maybe I'll come back to school. Maybe I'll go and join my father, become a Death Eater like he always planned for me to do anyway. Or maybe I'll just go and die, like I've wanted to for years." He met my eyes, and this time I could see him beginning to crack, to show some dependency. "So, say something, Ginny. Quick, before, I give up and keep walking."
"Draco…" My voice is soft, but I know Draco has no trouble hearing me.
"Ginny." He starts to turn again, excruciatingly slowly.
"Draco!" I cry after him. "Please, just listen to me."
He starts walking. "What's there to listen to? All you do is tell me my name. I know my name."
"Wait, please!" He keeps walking, and I begin hurrying after him, trying desperately to voice what I want to say.
What comes out surprises me probably more than it surprises him. And yet, I know the words are true even before they pass my lips. "Draco—I do. I love you…" Absorbed by my own guilt and frustration, I sink to my knees and sob. I don't even look up to see if he has stopped. I'm not sure I even want to know.
'
Right here's the deal… I'm thinking of writing a lemon for the next chapter. Not really graphic or anything, just sweet, fluffy lemon (lemon meringue! J ) Whadaya say? I'm not bad at it…
(Note—to get me these responses, you need to review!)