Author: Diamond Tears
Feedback: Please!!!
Rating: PG right now
Pairing: Draco/Ginny *sigh*
Disclaimer: As much as I wished for my Hogwarts Letter, it never came...
J. K. Rowling owns all, 'cept my plot...
yes, she even owns Draco... :(
A/N: This is my first HP fic and therefore, my first D/G fic. I hope it doesn't suck, but you can be the judge of that!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
(Ginny Weasley's fifth year, Draco Malfoy's sixth)
Inspiration never came at a good moment. It only came to her now, in the library
where she was trying to finish her potions review before the finals tomorrow. Snape
would be handing out a nearly impossible test, she knew, but in spite of herself she had
begun to daydream. The sun had gone down and the moonlight was shining through
the window and suddenly she wasn't alone anymore. Her hands seemed to guide
themselves, reaching for a book that was kept in the bottom of her bag. She opened
the book, knowing without looking when she had come to a blank page. She reached
down for her small bag of quills and selected one, her eyes never leaving her subject.
The sound of the tip scrapping on the page filled her ears and she smiled. She drew the
outline of the shadow, the shading of the face. She drew hands that were shaking and
she drew the window, towering tall. She shaded around the moonlight that shone in,
framing the form in front of her. She drew the paper in his hands, twisted and limp from
reading. She captured the tear running down his cheek. Then she looked down and
studied the picture in front of her.
It was him. His hair, his eyes, his hands. But it wasn't him. It wasn't the flawless, perfect
boy that she thought he was. She had drawn what she had seen. The despair on his
face, the curve of his spine, the sobs catching in his throat. She had seen the
desperation and the loneliness. She had seen the fear and the pain. And she had seen
in all on a face she had never thought could bear the weight of sorrow.
She looked up at him, the moonlight pouring in on his face, his cheeks sparkling with
silent tears in the starlight. His hands grasping the frame of the window. She let her hand
move against the paper and she drew the line of his robes, sweeping to the floor. She
drew the bend of his knees, the point in his elbow. She sketched the small curve of his
ear and the dark line of his eyelashes, laying against his cheek.
She wished she could capture the thoughts in her head. How his icy outside was
shattering right in front of her. How odd it was to see the emotion flying across his face.
But she couldn't find the pictures, she couldn't think of the words. She simply looked at
him, waiting until his tears seemed to be slowing. The moonlight was nearly gone and in
the darkness she packed up her things and moved silently out of the library and back
towards her common room.
He didn't notice her. His eyes still shut as tight as he could stand. His hands were shaking
with anger, his tears from years of up pain. His hands clutched at the frame of the
window and his letter, as he knees threatened to give out. He bit the inside of his lip, his
teeth baring down until the coppery taste of blood spilled onto his tongue. He opened
his eyes and stared out at the moon. The light face was almost glaring at him, mocking
his fear and pain.
He moved his hand to his wand, even though his arm felt like lead. He whispered a
spell, his voice soft and gentle, watching the light spill from his wand. He let himself slid
to the floor, curling his arms around his knees. Turning his head he let it fall onto his arms,
his eyes seeing a small book laying open on the floor beneath a table, hidden in a dark
corner of the library. It didn't look like any other book in the library. It had a deep red
cover, the spine bound in leather that was frayed with age. His letter was forgotten as
he lifted his head to look at the page that it lay open on.
A sketch covered the page. The shading of the figure blending gray into black and
white. He moved towards it on his hands and knees, curiosity getting the best of him. He
picked it up, the cover feeling like velvet on his fingertips. The paper was white and
smooth, thick and flawless. But there, splashed on that page, was him. It was him
holding his broomstick, smoldering with anger. Beside him, on the opposite page was
Harry, triumphant and beaming, the snitch gleaming in his hand.
He flipped through the pages, seeing drawings of students from every year and every
house. He saw the teachers and the castle, the Hogwarts express and Hogmeade. He
looked at every single drawing until he came to the very end. To the picture of him that
had been drawn less than half an hour before. A portrait of him as he hoped no one
ever saw him. Him at his worst, when the walls threaten to fall and the dam was
breaking with the force of his tears.
And it was perfect.
He wanted to destroy it. Rip it, light it on fire, anything to remove it from existence, but
he couldn't. Before he knew what he was doing he was scrawling a message on some
parchment from his bag and leaving it inside the book which he tossed lightly onto the
table. Picking up his things he left the library, his mind clouded with thoughts. He walked
slowly back to his common room, wondering who had seen him at his weakest moment.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Click this nifty little button and review!! Please!! Lemme know, even flames are welcome.
Feedback: Please!!!
Rating: PG right now
Pairing: Draco/Ginny *sigh*
Disclaimer: As much as I wished for my Hogwarts Letter, it never came...
J. K. Rowling owns all, 'cept my plot...
yes, she even owns Draco... :(
A/N: This is my first HP fic and therefore, my first D/G fic. I hope it doesn't suck, but you can be the judge of that!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
(Ginny Weasley's fifth year, Draco Malfoy's sixth)
Inspiration never came at a good moment. It only came to her now, in the library
where she was trying to finish her potions review before the finals tomorrow. Snape
would be handing out a nearly impossible test, she knew, but in spite of herself she had
begun to daydream. The sun had gone down and the moonlight was shining through
the window and suddenly she wasn't alone anymore. Her hands seemed to guide
themselves, reaching for a book that was kept in the bottom of her bag. She opened
the book, knowing without looking when she had come to a blank page. She reached
down for her small bag of quills and selected one, her eyes never leaving her subject.
The sound of the tip scrapping on the page filled her ears and she smiled. She drew the
outline of the shadow, the shading of the face. She drew hands that were shaking and
she drew the window, towering tall. She shaded around the moonlight that shone in,
framing the form in front of her. She drew the paper in his hands, twisted and limp from
reading. She captured the tear running down his cheek. Then she looked down and
studied the picture in front of her.
It was him. His hair, his eyes, his hands. But it wasn't him. It wasn't the flawless, perfect
boy that she thought he was. She had drawn what she had seen. The despair on his
face, the curve of his spine, the sobs catching in his throat. She had seen the
desperation and the loneliness. She had seen the fear and the pain. And she had seen
in all on a face she had never thought could bear the weight of sorrow.
She looked up at him, the moonlight pouring in on his face, his cheeks sparkling with
silent tears in the starlight. His hands grasping the frame of the window. She let her hand
move against the paper and she drew the line of his robes, sweeping to the floor. She
drew the bend of his knees, the point in his elbow. She sketched the small curve of his
ear and the dark line of his eyelashes, laying against his cheek.
She wished she could capture the thoughts in her head. How his icy outside was
shattering right in front of her. How odd it was to see the emotion flying across his face.
But she couldn't find the pictures, she couldn't think of the words. She simply looked at
him, waiting until his tears seemed to be slowing. The moonlight was nearly gone and in
the darkness she packed up her things and moved silently out of the library and back
towards her common room.
He didn't notice her. His eyes still shut as tight as he could stand. His hands were shaking
with anger, his tears from years of up pain. His hands clutched at the frame of the
window and his letter, as he knees threatened to give out. He bit the inside of his lip, his
teeth baring down until the coppery taste of blood spilled onto his tongue. He opened
his eyes and stared out at the moon. The light face was almost glaring at him, mocking
his fear and pain.
He moved his hand to his wand, even though his arm felt like lead. He whispered a
spell, his voice soft and gentle, watching the light spill from his wand. He let himself slid
to the floor, curling his arms around his knees. Turning his head he let it fall onto his arms,
his eyes seeing a small book laying open on the floor beneath a table, hidden in a dark
corner of the library. It didn't look like any other book in the library. It had a deep red
cover, the spine bound in leather that was frayed with age. His letter was forgotten as
he lifted his head to look at the page that it lay open on.
A sketch covered the page. The shading of the figure blending gray into black and
white. He moved towards it on his hands and knees, curiosity getting the best of him. He
picked it up, the cover feeling like velvet on his fingertips. The paper was white and
smooth, thick and flawless. But there, splashed on that page, was him. It was him
holding his broomstick, smoldering with anger. Beside him, on the opposite page was
Harry, triumphant and beaming, the snitch gleaming in his hand.
He flipped through the pages, seeing drawings of students from every year and every
house. He saw the teachers and the castle, the Hogwarts express and Hogmeade. He
looked at every single drawing until he came to the very end. To the picture of him that
had been drawn less than half an hour before. A portrait of him as he hoped no one
ever saw him. Him at his worst, when the walls threaten to fall and the dam was
breaking with the force of his tears.
And it was perfect.
He wanted to destroy it. Rip it, light it on fire, anything to remove it from existence, but
he couldn't. Before he knew what he was doing he was scrawling a message on some
parchment from his bag and leaving it inside the book which he tossed lightly onto the
table. Picking up his things he left the library, his mind clouded with thoughts. He walked
slowly back to his common room, wondering who had seen him at his weakest moment.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Click this nifty little button and review!! Please!! Lemme know, even flames are welcome.