Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize here (namely Draco and Ginny) belong to J. K. Rowling. They are not mine. And "Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" belongs to REO Speedwagon. But the bad poetry is mine, all mine! Oh, and the chapter of this title is the name of a famous song by Gershwin.

Chapter Four: Rhapsody in Blue

The problem: How can the author engineer a Draco/Ginny reunion?

The hypothesis: Given an appropriately harsh environment and a tortured subject in need of healing, if an Angel of Light is added to the equation, then a Draco/Ginny reunion should result.

The materials: A broken and moody Draco, cold dark dungeons, an unforgiving father, bad poetry, and a total disregard for Canon.

The variable: The Angel of Light.

It was no more than a simple experiment.

There was darkness in the dungeons and darkness inside Draco's mind. He was tortured, bruised, broken, and filled with despair against the savagery of Fate. The cold floor against his injured cheek, the dark thoughts within his brain, and the deceit of his own mind made him a perfect subject for the experiment of the Fates.

All hope was lost to Draco. Ginny, Ginny with her crimson hair and fiery spirit and lovably hurtful hexes was lost beyond all hope to him. Draco would have bashed his head against the walls of the dungeon had he the energy. But that was lost to him as well.

Enter the Angel of Light.

Even in the darkness, Draco rhapsodized. With a weak and uncertain voice, he plotted the lines of his next poem, scanning them by tapping his fingers against the cold stone floor.

                             Ginny, Ginny, with your skin of white

                             And your crimson lips so fair-

                             Ginny, Ginny, you are my delight

                             With your wiry, fiery hair.

                             The littlest weasel is little no more

                             But has filled my heart instead

                             With my soul, I thee adore

                             And I want to take you to be—

"Don't even think of finishing that line, Draco Malfoy," said a cool voice from the entrance of the dungeon.

Looking up, startled, Draco saw Ginny's slight figure leaning against the door frame. She was glaring at him.

"Ginny, my love…." Draco hesitated before speaking, but was immediately interrupted.

"Yes, I know, I'm the delight of your eyes, and the sole cry of your heart. It's all very moving—except, perhaps, the comparison to dragon poo," Ginny said, smirking.

"The genius of a poet is beyond the comprehension of mortal power," Draco replied stiffly.

"Yes, I know," Ginny said solemnly. "Don't worry, I understood you perfectly… and I'm sure your father will understand once he reads your poetry as well."

"My father?" Draco's head jerked up; he was sure his father would NOT understand his obsession with Ginny. "Has he read my poet—er, treatises on the nature of hexes, yet?"

"Well, not yet, although I really should give it to him, seeing as it is my duty to hand in incriminating documents of this sort to him…" she said slowly. "As a loyal servant of the Malfoy household, my obedience to your father's wishes is something of a job requirement."

"You? A servant? In my house?"

"It's technically not your house, and I'm a bit more important, shall we say, than a servant…" Ginny continued to smirk, an inscrutable expression on her freckled face.

"More than a servant?" Uneasy thoughts began to appear in Draco's mind. "Please tell me you're not—with—my father?" Draco suppressed outraged thoughts of Ginny as his father's love-slave, scantily clad, serving beverages to his Death Eater friends at their gatherings.

"Of course I'm –with—your father, you idiot," Ginny continued exasperatedly. "I am working for him after all…" She neglected to mention her dual role as spy and general eavesdropper—why bother the boy with useless details? He was obviously very sensitive. And she was right.

Draco began to cry like the dark, tortured, and sensitive man that he was.

Ginny immediately swooped ("dove-like," Draco thought in his despair-induced haze) towards Draco's still, prone form and began to stroke his hair gently while murmuring the lyrics to REO Speedwagon's "Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore."

While Ginny sang, "And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might… I can't fight this feeling anymore. I've forgotten what I started fighting for—it's time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars forever…" a number of thoughts raced through Draco's mind: "This is kind of nice… my heart feels less stony… I feel spiritually renewed and healed… wait a second--!"

The irony of the situation struck Draco at the moment—instead of enfolding Ginny in his strong arms, she was holding him in hers.

Shouldn't his sense of male dignity be outraged at the fact that she was pressing him to her breast and crooning to him like he was some mutant oversized baby?

Shouldn't his pride be injured at his own lack of resistance-- the tears dripping down his pale and bruised cheeks?

Shouldn't he remove himself immediately from her arms and demand that she flush, turn pale, and then swoon, in his muscular arms?

Shouldn't he extricate himself from her clutches, and insist that she stop gently kissing his face—isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

Draco decided that it really didn't matter in the end.

And it was, after all, the end.

The End.

A/N: Well, that's it. Yes, I know it was rather silly, but I did enjoy writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Either way, tell me about it!