Disclaimer: I, unfortunately do not own the characters, who are, if you were not able to tell, Draco and Ginny. J.K. Rowling does, though. Lucky.
Notes: This didn't necessarily have to be fanfiction, but I thought it would fit. As always, please review. Also, this is a one-shot, meaning no more after this.
Lifetime GuaranteeThe egg-shaped clock twisted and thrashed in her hands.
It was small and a teal color, its narrow face blinking the number 5:30 at her. Turning it over in her palm, she felt its cool and heavy metal surface, before reading the words Witch Weekly on one of its iridescent sides.
Yes, that had been where she had gotten it. A prize received from Witch Weekly for her ardent subscriptions.
There was a scratch or two on the smooth surface—perhaps from too much play and use, for it really was a funny little clock, and two buttons on its back.
Her lips quirked up slightly, for in very, very small print there was upon it a promise:
Lifetime guarantee.--``--
She hadn't noticed how it had become a habit.
Because small things like that stopped mattering a long time ago; maybe when she started caring about clothes and make-up and boys and school, and less about playing.
Sitting at her desk cluttered with papers, all she could think about was how if she cried, the ink on her homework would get smudged. No, no, she couldn't cry, none of the teachers would accept soggy, smudged papers, and she was too tired and…
But somehow through all of these muddy thoughts, the clock was in her hands again, and then yet again on the ebony surface of her desk, teeter-tottering on its heavy bottom playfully. Always on the verge, but not quite.
Light and delicate fingers connected to a dazed and distant girl gently flicked at it, watching almost hypnotically as it swerved and twirled out of control.
And how it always managed to right itself. Always.
You see-- humans aren't like that. Humans get pushed and fall and sometimes, they never get back up.
Her lips were pursed.
He had told her it was over. When she said the word over in her head, she could sense its utter finality.
Her fingers gave the clock a less-than-gentle push.
More swerving, more twirling, more flashes of numbers and silver.
How? How could he have just walked away, leaving her with words upon more words, none clearing the confusion she felt? He might as well have told her that he didn't love her at all.
But no. He had just left, becoming an invisible part of the horizon.
Just left. He was becoming a thing of the past? Past.
She didn't want this memory, though.
Her eyes blurred and still watched her faithful clock spin for her, clicking against her desk.
Or maybe. Maybe all that she had thought was right had been wrong—completely incorrect, false, a veneer.
Maybe he really couldn't love anyone or anything, after all, and maybe all those times she had thought that his gray eyes were the warmest gray eyes one could ever see—maybe that had been a silly illusion of her mind too.
They did say that teenage minds could easily be tricked.
They did say that love, or something like that, was tricky and confusing and perhaps—did not exist at all.
Spin, spin. Clank. Why was it still spinning? Like a taunt, as if to say that she should get back up, as if to say that falling was not an option.
But she could not get up.
And the words Witch Weekly whizzing past her vision.
Another hard push, but yet the clock refused to fall completely.
Refused.
No, no, no.
And she felt betrayed. Because she could not control anything in her life—not even this stupid toy, and he never ever loved her and he didn't know that with a simple gesture he had ruined her life.
They could have been forever.
She was crying. Her foraging for something to make sense was lost in those tears as the droplets inevitably hit the creamy surface of her many parchments.
Hands trembled.
Pain and anger.
Forever, forever
Forever?
A final push echoed into the air, and a small teal-colored object was falling at last, losing all ground to spin on.
A loud crack, fragments of clockwork scattering the floor and—
Everything was left in pieces.
She was shaking, realizing that it had all been a lie as she stared at the broken pieces of her clock.
And as she stared at the bits and pieces of metal and springs still quivering—the same words were pounding in her head:
No lifetime guarantees.