Don't Wait for the Sun…
Summary: Don't put off tomorrow what you could do today…especially if it's telling someone you love them.
Rating: PG for death
Disclaimer: We all know this isn't mine, but instead, JKR's. The song I used for the title, and the quote belong the American Hi-Fi. The words "Sweet raptured…" belong to Evanescence as found in the song My Last Breath.
Age: Draco's a seventh year; Ginny's in her sixth.
*
He stood on the stairwell, looking out the window, staring at the grounds below him. It was late January, and cold. He was sure that if he tried, he could have seen his breath, but Draco didn't care to just then. He was transfixed by the seen playing out in front of him.
Outside, it was gray and sunless, and the clouds looked as if they would burst at any minute, but that didn't seem to bother Potter, the Weasels, and the Mudblood. Most of them were having a snowball fight, but the girls were watching from the side. The Mudblood said something to Gin- the Girl Weasley, who laughed uproariously. She looked so beautiful and happy. Draco almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. He hadn't smile since the war started, one year ago.
A few days after it had begun, he had seen his father slaughter Severus Snape, his favorite teacher and mentor in cold blood. His stomach still turned, thinking of the body he had found early one morning in the Potion's Dungeon, and his father's fallen pendant next to the body. Worse was the cold feeling in his heart when he put the pieces together, when he knew.
He found out why quickly, of course. It was all over the school in an hour. Snape had been a spy for Dumbledore, and he had been caught. That evening, Draco paid a visit to McGonagall. She had been so surprised when he turned in his father's pendant and asked to speak to Dumbledore. Dumbledore, though, wasn't shocked at all when Draco had said he would like to spy for the light side. Draco always thought he knew, knew that his cold nature was just a façade.
He looked again, at the seen outside. Potter and his sidekick were rolling around in the snow. How immature, he thought. But part of him ached for a friendship like theirs, instead of what he had now. Friends? No, never. Followers, perhaps, or bodyguards, but no one would consider Crabbe and Goyle friends.
He glanced back at the girls. They were smiling now, the Weasley showing off perfect white teeth. He brown eyes twinkled, and he knew her hair, hidden now in her hood, was a fiery red.
He watched her face, lost in her joy. He…he…lov…lik… was getting soft. He shook his head slightly and left the stairway, on his way to meet Dumbledore.
*(Four months later)*
He had taken to watching her, whenever he could. He hid in the shadows, careful not to be seen. He learned about her, from her favorite flower (the orchid) to her fears (being taken by Voldemort).
He hated himself for it. He cursed himself at night, knowing was stupid and pathetic, but he couldn't help it. She was different than any other girl he knew. Most of them were in Slytherin, but still… she was so many things…funny, kind, pretty, sarcastic, fun, and so much more. She was, in essence perfect, which is what killed him. She wouldn't look twice at him. It was as if he didn't exist, in a way.
But today, she would be forced to see him, to notice him. He, being the eldest Slytherin Prefect (Potter was Head Boy, damn it), was to supervise the detention she received for blowing up her cauldron in potions, and Creevey's with it. The walls were now splattered with green and red and looked like Christmas.
He watched her as she came in. Her mouth formed a slight O of surprise when she saw him, but she went to work with the soapy bucket and sponge. The time ticked slowly by for her, and all too quickly for him.
It was nearly 9:30 and she had finished, but her detention required her to stay until at least 9:45. She stood with her back to him, watching the minute hand on the clock. He stared off into space, thinking about how wonderful it would be if he told her he loved her and she loved him back.
The school year was almost over now. Soon, he would leave Hogwarts and she could find a boyfriend without her overprotective brother breathing down her neck. She would find a husband and have kids, and he would be left, cold and alone. Unless…
He walked forward, standing behind her. "Ginny?"
She turned around. "What?" she asked, making her hostility open and evident.
He faltered a moment. "I-I just wanted to say that you can go now. No need to have Muggle loving filth around the dungeons any longer than necessary, is there?"
Her eyes widened in shock and anger. "I don't know why Dumbledore let's people like you in here, people so obviously in the Dark Arts it's disgusting." She spun on her heel and left. Draco could here her footsteps as she stalked down the corroder. The footsteps came to an abrupt halt and Draco knew it was because she realized her called her Ginny.
I'll tell her later, he decided. At the end of the year, on the train.
*(One month later)*
School had finished, and Draco left Hogwarts with the position of Salutatorian. The Mudblood had beaten him again, of course, but this time, he could care less. He didn't worry about what his father would think, because he was never going back to Malfoy Manor again.
Even if he was, Draco didn't think he'd worry. At this point, he couldn't think about anything but Ginny. He rehearsed it in his head, seemingly a million times. It was very simple. He'd go up to her compartment, and ask to speak to her alone. If not, and that was a good possibility, he would tell her right then and there. "Ginny, I think I love you." It was short, sweet, and to the point.
He was first on the train, and took the front compartment, so he could see where Ginny was sitting. He heard her laugh with Potter, who no longer held her affection after all these years. Instead, they had become friends, good friends. Even if a relationship was completely out of the picture, Draco was still insanely jealous of Potter's relationship with her.
He stood up to follow her into her compartment, but could get no farther than the door of his own. In his head, he replayed what she had the last time they had meant. She would never love him, not yet anyway. He would wait until the war was over, when everyone would know he wasn't evil, and had maybe even saved the Golden Boy, St. Potter's life. Then, he could tell Ginny.
He felt a sharp, burning pain in his arm. He looked down and saw the Dark Mark, the symbol of all he loathed, was burning. For the first time, he felt compelled to ignore it, to go find Ginny. He was about to, when he felt himself being physically lifted and thrown out the window of the speeding train.
He groaned in pain when he hit the ground. He saw fellow Slytherins, and Death Eaters littering the ground beside him. Then, near the middle of the train, where Ginny sat with Potter and their friends, he saw a spark. The spark grew into a flame, the flame into a fire. The fire spread quickly, and he could see spells flying to try to stop it. None worked, of course. Voldemort knew things, spells and potions that could do anything to fire. He could hear screams starting, echoing in his years, Ginny's in particular.
It took nearly an hour, but the fire soon disappeared as quickly as it came. As Ginny and countless others died, and with them, so did something inside Draco. He looked around at the Death Eaters around him. Even a few of them had minor injuries from the fall, a broken leg or arm.
"You okay?" Goyle grunted as Draco walked by.
Draco bent his head foreword as he kept walking. He disappeared into a thicket of trees, continuing on until he reached a clearing.
It was the most perfect kind of clearing, calm and green, with small pond. It was the kind you might find in stories made for little kids. He crouched in front of the pond and peered into the water. He could see his face, pale and quavering with the movement of the water. The water seemed to change, and he could see Ginny's face, alive in her fear, staring back at him, screaming silently.
His face showed no emotion, no feeling, but inside, it felt as if he was being tortured. Why, why had Ginny died? Why had she perished when he hadn't? It was him with the Dark Mark on his hand, who should have burned in the fire. Yet, it was him sitting at the pond, morning the loss of his love.
He stood again, and as he did, his wand dropped out of his pocket. He picked it up and held it in his hand, staring at it. It was strange that something made of wood and a bit of hair (true, it was unicorn hair) could do things both wonderful and terrible. It could create life, or it could bring death.
Death, the sweet escape. As all Death Eaters did, Draco knew and was practiced in the Unforgivables. Two simple words and all of his pain and suffering would be gone in a rush of green light. He could do it, couldn't he?
He thought of all of the things he would be missing out on. The fall of Voldemort and what else? He actually couldn't think of much of anything. He had no friends and no family. The only thing that kept him going for the months since the war started was Ginny, and she was gone.
Death was the escape, the answer. He many be a coward, but he had been afraid of Ginny for too long. The only way he would ever see her again was to go after her. At least they could be together, somewhere…
He held the wand point-blank at his forehead. He took one last look at life, and closed his eyes. He whispered the words. "Avada Kedrava."
Sweet raptured light, it ends here tonight.
*
Don't wait for the sun; it could turn black any day.