Abandon
"I brought some items back - I did a lot of strolling around the house, there's a lot of security. But I managed to bring some things," Draco notified her. Ginny watched silently as she sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting patiently. He reached into a small black bag she had not noticed before. It looked worn and ripped at the edges, but D.M. was imprinted in tiny letters at the front.
"Are those your initials?" Ginny prompted.
Draco shook his head. "No, it's that bastard's. Devon's."
"Oh." The redhead grew silent. Draco pulled several things out, such as a hairbrush, spare parchment, spare quills, spare cloaks, and various different bottles and vials with clear liquid in them.
"Healing potions," Draco explained, catching the curious look on Ginny's face.
"Ah," she responded. "Can I have that hairbrush?"
He grinned at her, his eyes catching on her frizzy, un-brushed, and tangled hair. Ginny felt herself blush. "Please?" she added.
"I'll help," he told her.
"You don't have to..." Ginny started to say, but relented as Draco sat behind her, pulling her against him. Her head rested on his chest as he began to pull apart tangles, brushing them slowly. It was a difficult process, but she felt peaceful to be against him, smelling his familiar fragrance, feeling his light touch. He mumbled under his breath as he brushed her stubborn strands, and she grinned to herself.
"What day is it?" she suddenly asked, her eyes wide in realization.
"It's January fourth," Draco told her, biting his lip in sheer concentration as he pushed through her hair with his fingers instead.
"My God," she breathed, closing her eyes tightly before opening them once more. "It feels like years."
"Do you want me to heal your bruises after this?" Draco asked, his voice barely audible.
"Alright," Ginny retorted, feeling unease. "But you'll have to take my clothes off first - they're everywhere," she said, biting an extra strand of hair nervously.
"No problem," Draco said, and she could almost hear him grinning in anticipation.
And although it was sick and demented, Ginny couldn't help but laugh, which made his grin twist into a mutual smile. And it was more real than she had ever seen.
~*~
It was nearly midnight when Draco finished brushing her hair. He took his time. He admired her hair - it was auburn, cascading across her shoulders, like waterfalls of red curls, and soft to touch, and he felt as if he could brush it for the whole year. He liked to feel her warmth against him, liked to touch her cheekbones with his fingertips when he was pushing strands away from invading her face. There was nothing to do but wait. None of them knew what was going to happen, and he liked it to stay that way. She sat cross-legged, giving small sighs, telling him little stories about growing up in the Burrow, and even though his mind dazed off from the subject, he couldn't help but have the greatest ambition to make her laugh.
"So then, Ron got a new teddy bear, named it Eddie, and Mum gave Fred and George such a spanking about the spider thing that they didn't bother Eddie," Ginny finished with an air of melodrama as she twirled a piece of hair between her fingers, chewing on it heartily.
"You shouldn't do that," he warned her cautiously.
She withdrew her teeth sharply from the hair. "Why not?"
"It can become an addiction."
"So can other things," she murmured under her breath, but Draco had no idea what she meant.
"Are you hurting?" Draco asked her after a moment's pause.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you still hurt - from where - where he - touched - I mean, hurt you?" he sputtered, feeling his stomach drop as a look of comprehension came over Ginny's face.
"Yes," she retorted curtly. "Are you almost done with my hair?"
"Just about..." Draco bit his lip vigorously as she moved upright, keeping a safe distance from him now. With one last, smooth swerve across her hair, he set the brush down on the floor.
"Now do you want the healing potions?"
She nodded slowly, her now flawless hair caressing her shoulders lightly as she did.
Draco reached behind her, grasping two tiny bottles that smelled suspiciously like roses, and unscrewed their tops. Ginny watched him with narrowed eyes, her knees up to her chin, her green skirt swaying across her legs. As he put a drop of liquid into his finger, he gave out a large cry.
Ginny jumped slightly, her eyes widening in shock. "What is it?"
"Nothing - it just stings."
"Stings?" she repeated, her bottom lip quivering in horror. "No! I won't! I hate those kind of things!"
"Ginny," he protested in a parental tone. "I have to heal you. Now take your sweater off," he said with an air of persuasion.
Ginny folded her arms across her chest, looking stubborn. "No. It'll hurt."
Draco blinked, trying hard not to notice how her bosom heaved when she put her arms under it. "Umm...right. If you don't do it, then I'll have to force you to."
"You will not," she said doubtfully. "You wouldn't dare."
"If it'll help you get better, yes I would. Now - last chance. Take your sweater off."
"No," she said, shaking her head from side to side.
"Alright, you asked for it!" And with that sentence fully announced, hovering in sound, he lightly pushed her to the floor, and leaned over, one hand on her chest to keep her from moving. She grimaced, shifting underneath him as he took the ends of her green sweater and pulled it off slowly over her head. She remained silent, content, watching him shyly, her cheeks bright red.
Don't look, don't look, he told himself. It was rather difficult not to look, but he managed. Taking his finger, he pressed it onto a visible, red bruise in her shoulder. She made a small moan of agony and flinched as he did.
"Sorry," he told her carelessly. "Oh...God," he whispered, eyeing her bruises. Several of them were placed on her stomach, and running up and down her arms. She didn't say a word. She kept her eyes closely shut, as if afraid to look at him. It was a catastrophic
experience, observing her injured body. Even though he knew it was very wrong, Draco took pleasure in touching her softly, and watching the bruises disappear within seconds. It was when he was recovering her shoulder blade when he saw something shimmering from her neck.
He looked closely. It was a scar - but not just any scar. Although it was faint, it was heart-shaped and bright red, like blood. The outline of it seemed to be attached to her skin, and the inside of it was covered in blemishes. He touched the bumps of it, feeling magnetic attraction coming from it. Her eyes flickered open in terror.
"It's a birthmark," she blurted out anxiously.
He nodded. Even though he didn't believe her for one second.
~*~
"You okay?" he asked her, hoping his voice didn't clarify at how distraught she looked, pulling on her sweater once again, tugging at the hemline, the turtleneck part of it, folding down any crease she saw. Strands of red brushed against her nose. Draco leaned over, and pushed it away, his fingertip still on her cheekbone. Her skin was delicate, fragile. He could count the freckles sprinkled on top of her nose as it wrinkled.
Her breath wavered across his neck. "Draco..."
Their lips collided against each other in longing, in perfect rhythm. Her pulse quickened, as did his heartbeat. There was nothing more delicious than drowning into her smell while they were all alone, nothing more adequate than having her slowly wrap her arms around his waist, her hands intertwined at the end. He held on to her, half of his arms under her arms, his hands on her shoulders, lopsided. It made no difference what position. Her breath grew heavier as their lips parted for moments. They sat like this, wrapped around each other, their noses bumping, their foreheads planted firmly against one another, and their lips centimeters away. There was nothing more he wanted to than to give into the burning inside his chest, which was pleading for him to kiss her senseless in blissful peace, and then pull her down on the floor, and make the sweetest love to her fragrance.
But then she pulled away. His heart-wrenching spinning world came into vision again when she pulled away from his embrace. She turned over, and without a word, curled up on the floor, legs and arms secured around her, her eyes closed.
He felt anger, disappointment and embarrassment glowering inside of him. But then, it faded away as he watched her small, cute face. The expression on her face before she let go of their grasp was something he had only seen and experienced so many times in his life.
It was fear.
~*~
Draco watched her sleep. It was like nothing else he had ever done. Even when darkness filled the room, his eyes refused to leave her face - it was a face that made you want to look back. Her lips were warm-looking, inviting, her nose small, her eyelashes long, and her hair silky and smooth, over her cheeks. He ran his fingers through her mass of auburn hair, not sure if she felt it. How could have someone hurt her? She was so innocent, she had done nothing but exist. She sighed a bit in her sleep. All he wanted to do was cradle in his arms and leave her breathless. The hours passed by like seconds. Draco's eyes declined to droop. There was nothing else to do but wait. What would happen? How would they get out of here alive? Would they get out alive? These questions and many others rushed past his mind.
He grasped Ginny's upper arms. "Mmhph," she murmured, her eyes still closed.
"Be quiet," he prompted her gently, pulling her by the waist and into his arms. He felt the serene poise distracting enough. She was against him, rubbing her eyes vigirously before she tilted her head toward him.
"Draco?" Ginny questioned softly. "What're you doing?"
He didn't answer. Clutching her chin with the tips of his fingers, he paused, examining her. "Can I?"
Her breath took a sharp intake. "Can you...what?" she trailed off, her eyes closing. Feeling massive disappointment that she had gone to sleep again, he continued to hold her, almost swearing he could see the tiniest bit of a smile on her face.
~*~
Insomnia. Like an impassive wave of tiring illusions. Every illuminated shadow on the walls made him jump. It was like being given The Kiss by a Dementor. He felt himself reliving memories he wished that would wash away.
He was five years old. He had discovered a book in his mother's library concerning muggles. He had became so engrossed with the words and their lifestyles that he didn't notice his father had entered, looking at him furiously with disgust, and yanked the book out of his hands. Draco cried softly as he watched his father rip the book into shreds. Then his father beckoned her mother into the library. He slapped her several times before she cowered into the floor, picking up the shreds one by one, and throwing them into the fireplace, tears pouring over her cheeks, because it had been given to her by her mother, who had died only three days ago. Draco was sent to his room without dinner, and had starved the whole night. He had a sudden suspicion that his mother had starved longer than that.
Then, his thirteenth birthday. The most purebred families and their children came to the manor on this festive occasion. He hated it. He spent the entire evening in his armchair, not eating, not responding to their foolish questions. He wasn't even allowed to cut his cake, like other happy families would. At the end of the party, Draco was sent to his father's study by a house-elf, and had been beaten lifeless for not acting properly. He remembered waking up thirteen years old, with a black eye, his body slumped in bed. His mother nor father seemed to have no recollection of this, and didn't question him when he didn't come downstairs.
It was like he never existed.
Then, his seventeenth birthday. The start of the war. He had to runaway. When he came back, he received news that Voldemort was gone, even though half of the wizarding population had been terrorized, injured or killed. When he came into the manor - his father did horrible things to him. Things that made him scream aloud whenever he thought of this.
"Draco?" a soft voice urged. Ginny Weasley had her back to him, but she was now half-risen at the sound of him.
He looked up, wiping his eyes hurriedly. "You're awake," he said dully.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently.
"I am fine," he snapped. "Go back to sleep."
Ginny grimaced at this, but sat up on the floor, leaning forward to him, and pulling him into an awkward hug. He stiffened as he always did, but she pushed strands of silver-blonde off his forehead, her eyes searching his. A small smile erupted into her mouth as she pulled away.
He did what he wanted to do for a long time. He went completely on impulse, and grabbed her shoulders harshly, pushing her into the floor, his legs planted on hers. She gave a small whimper of surprise, but he concealed the audible noise with his lips, his hands wandering under her sweater, feeling her soft, creamy stomach. She protested, her voice muffled, but he didn't stop. He didn't want to stop. His lips bruised hers, and he could feel the blood trickling out of her delicate mouth - he liked it. He liked the feeling of total control - he wanted her right now, he wanted to screw her, use her, the feeling of hunger rising into his flesh. Her lips still had the delicious warmth to provide him - he had no warmth inside of him, and he needed her inside.
"Stop it," she murmured, as one of his hands began to maneuver her sweater off. "Stop...you don't know what you're doing! Draco! Stop it!"
"No!" Draco responded, his voice shaking violently. "No! I don't want to stop."
"Please...Draco, you're hurting me," Ginny whispered, her eyes welling with tears as his fingernails sunk deep into her wrists.
"I don't care."
I don't care.
"Please, Lucius! You're hurting me!"
"I don't care. I don't care, I don't care..."
The shock was unlimited. Ginny could feel herself freeze, feeling her body go rigid, all blood rushing out of her body. His pale cheeks lost all color it had - and he stammered.
"I mean - oh God," he hissed, pushing himself off of her, his reaction wearing off him quickly. He felt guilt, dread and disgust all at the same time.
He couldn't look at Ginny the whole night. Turning over, he kept a safe distance from her, feeling his knees shake the whole time. His breathing grew heavier by every second.
And so did hers.
~*~
The next morning seemed to come too slowly for Draco. He was suddenly shaken awake by the sound of a soft whimper. Sitting upright, he turned his head - Ginny was rolling over and over on the floor, in the middle of what seemed to be a horrifying nightmare. Her wracking body was shaking, her face twitching.
"Ginny?" he hissed. "Ginny, are you..."
Ginny turned over, a look of agony embarked on her face, "Please...somebody..."
"Ginny!" Draco shouted loudly, grasping her shoulders and shaking them back and forth. Her eyes kept tightly shut. His heartbeat raced as he touched her eyelids gently, prodding them to move forward so that her brown eyes were now looking back at him.
"What're you doing?" she croaked, backing away from him, sliding her palms against the floor as she crawled backwards, recoiling.
"I was trying to wake you up," Draco insisted, biting his lip vigorously. "What is it?"
She had no answer. Her lips were pursed into a thin line. Her nose wrinkled, her expression vaguely terrified, and she had begun to chew a strand of hair that had brushed onto her face in that precise moment. The intensifying realization rushed through him before it landed like a thump in his chest.
"You - think - no, please..." he told her in a pleading voice, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. "You were having a nightmare - I would never hurt you..." he trailed off, his adrenaline pacing increasingly back and forth, sweat trickling at the nape of his neck. He felt as if his insides were being bitten apart into shreds that landed quietly in the corner of his stomach. It was not a process he particularly enjoyed.
"You already did," Ginny answered curtly, staring at him with blank eyes, pushing her hair out of her mouth, now pulling her knees to her chin, her brown orbs piercing into him.
He didn't dare look back.
~*~
Ginny Weasley could not explain the hurt that she had felt when he had tried to force himself onto her. It was like a sudden dread of fear that overcame her and washed out all other thoughts. The same night he had done that, it had taken hours to stop the tears. It was that raw, hatred that ran through her blood. It was realizing that maybe Draco wasn't who she thought he was. Perhaps he was just the boy that had ruefully snapped at her a year ago, or the one who always mocked her with that silly little crush back at school. Perhaps he was just like Devon, but worse, because he made her feel things that she had never felt before.
But then, again. He could be the other boy. The boy that was handsome, sly, cunning, and amusing. He could be the desperate boy that clung into himself only last night, crying, and not wanting anybody to hear. He could be the boy that she had found, starving, tired, and helpless like a small baby at the snowy sidewalks of London, his silver-blonde hair freckled with snow, his only clothes soaked with water from melted snowflakes.
He could be the boy that made her laugh.
He could be the boy that saved her. That saved her from Devon, and saved her from herself.
He could be the boy that she saved as well, but she didn't know how much it meant to him.
He could be the boy that thought he cared only about himself, but he cared the world for her.
He could also be the boy that pretended he didn't care but he really did.
He could be the boy that scared himself sometimes by the feelings he thought he never had.
He could be the boy...
a sudden stroke of affection swept over her chest - she was drowning in that tingling, chilling knowing sensation that broke bumps out on her bare skin...
Draco could also be the boy that she was in love with.
~*~
Draco Malfoy had never felt pain this intensifying before. Ginny made him feel like a reckless thing that needed to be put away in a quiet corner for many minutes. And this was exactly what he was doing, in the corner, huddled in himself, hugging himself, because nobody else would.
Constantly he snuck glances at the redhead, but she still had her back to him.
And it felt awful. Almost as awful as he tried to pack his bags, and his father had beaten him fiercely, telling him he didn't deserve any of the clothes on his back.
Draco Malfoy had been abandoned by a father who had raised him - or at least, appeared to be raising him, for nearly twenty years. Yes, Draco had felt pain for being ridiculed and left on the streets. And yet - here was this girl. This pretty, but not glamorous girl, who was sympathized when he needed it, who protected him when he needed it, who he had really only known for a few weeks, since he didn't notice her much at Hogwarts. She was nice enough, funny, sweet, and had a laugh that sent him into a heart-wrenching spin.
He had known his father his whole life.
And he had known this girl by the name of Ginny - really gotten to know her, for only a few days.
So how come he felt more worse about her? He buried his head in between his legs, keeping his eyes tightly closed. Beads of liquid managed to escape through the peaks of his eyelashes.
~*~
"Your hair looks messy again," Draco observed conversationally. Ginny didn't turn around. She sat in the similar position she was in only a few hours ago, with her legs raised to her chin, and her arms around her knees. She fixated her gaze on the wall instead, not making a movement. Draco felt his heartbeat grow fainter as his eyes pondered the state of her hair. He would give anything, anything, just to feel that hair between his fingers again, to run it through her - hell, he would give anything to kiss those lips again, and explore that delicious mouth, and sink into her powerful embrace. He felt bliss erupt inside of him whenever he thought of the little moments that they had. And now he wondered if he would ever have them again.
"Do you want me to brush it?" he said, at attempt to do something.
This time, to his sheer surprise, she raised her shoulders, and murmured an almost soft, barely inaudible, "If you want to."
Draco felt a small smile uplift the corners of his mouth. He stood up slowly, his limbs progressing at a low pace, and walked toward her, picking up the hairbrush from the floor, and sat down, his legs in front of him, at the sides of her waist, and pulled her gently against him. She didn't protest. She closed her eyes, her head at his bare neck, the feeling of her hair against his skin gave him a tingling sensation that electrified through his whole body. He started with tender strokes first, then pulled apart the tangles, occasionally twirling a strand in his finger. She gave a small sigh as his finger ran through her mass, her smile timid, and wistful, as if nothing could ever destroy it.
I won't let anything else destroy it, he promised himself.
~*~
When he was finished with the meaningful progress of fondling her hair with admiration in his eyes, she turned around, sitting cross-legged across from him, feeling the ends of her, as if making sure he had not cut anything off, then gave him a small smile. "You're very good at that," she remarked teasingly, leaning back into the floor.
He blinked, not liking the way she was manipulating him, the way her chest heaved when her head fell back, her curls of auburn grazing her shoulders. She tugged at her turtleneck sweater, wrinkling her nose in the occasional way she always did. He gulped down the lump in his throat, trying to restrain the thoughts that were going through his mind at this moment. "Good at what?"
"Brushing. How do you do it so well, anyways?" Ginny questioned, frowning, her eyes now flashing with bitterness. "Don't tell me you have experience...?" she trailed off, the last words rolling off of her tongue with a warning tone.
He shook his head. "Not at all," he said hastily. "I like brushing your hair."
Ginny grinned in spite of herself. What are you doing? she asked herself, disapprovingly. You're just making him think about you like that so it'll make it easier for you. You know he's not capable of loving you back. Her throat went dry, but her impulse ran her adrenaline like blood running through her skin as she tugged her sweater off, as casually as possible, over her neck. His eyes widened in shock - and he quickly turned his head, his eyes deceptive with both puzzlement and yearning.
"What else do you like?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
Draco could almost feel his saliva dripping at the tone of her voice. When had sweet, innocent frightful Ginny Weasley had gotten so forward?
"You're tired," Draco suddenly prompted, looking down at his lap, avoiding her eyes. "Perhaps you should go to sleep."
But Ginny didn't give up so easily. On her knees, she crawled over to him, her hands planted on each thigh. He could feel perspiration running in the nape of his neck as he took a sharp intake of his breath. Her lips gently prodded against his. He didn't refuse the invitation - occupying the blissful silence with sweetly taking in the tenderness of her lips, the heated flashes that his body went through to feel her supple breasts against his as she pressed forward into him, barely concealed by her undergarment.
Ginny was more relaxed then him; although his toned chest against his didn't improve anything. She tried to pull away from the kiss, but his hands were now tugging at the hem of her skirt, trying to get it down to her knees - she smelled him - drowned into the fragrance of sweat and chocolate, feeling every vibration, every reaction he had to her, all sensible conscience forgotten.
Perhaps it would've moved further into something that engaged into commitment.
Perhaps.
Until the door swung open, to reveal a transparent-pink-shirted, black-skirted and coy-looking Mindy.
~*~
"Mindy!" Ginny shrieked in mortification, recoiling, backing away into the floor. Draco stiffened, turning around.
"Put the sweater back on," she ordered, her voice cool and collected, sounding rather amused with the current situation.
"You - you got your voice back!" Draco suddenly prompted.
"Yes," she said, nodding ruthlessly. "Now let's get out of here."
"How did you open the door?" asked a flustered Ginny, whose hair was now messy curls that blocked her impeccable brown eyes.
Mindy parted her lips but nothing came out - her eyes widened in horror, and her limbs seemed to discharge for a moment before she fell out of the open doorway and spread eagle-angled on the floor, her eyes still open, her mouth still gaping, but her breathing was hitched, and she looked lifeless.
And that's when they looked up.
And saw Devon Myers. A look of satisfaction crossed his face before his mouth moved into a hideous smirk. A knowing smirk. "Don't worry, I wouldn't kill her. Just petrified." He shrugged, pleased with himself. He was attired in fancy black robes that were emboirdered in silver lining, his brown hair fluttering over his eyelids.
"How do we know you didn't kill her?" Ginny suddenly spat, her chin trembling beneath her words. Shock - distrust and horrification were going through her like a thousand knives stinging into her flesh and turning over and over again. She couldn't take this anymore. Her teeth began to nibble quietly at a strand of her hair to keep from falling to the floor.
Devon gave her a disgusted look. "I would never kill her."
"Why - why not?" she challenged, the strand falling from her mouth, now dissertated from her scalp. Her insides were quivering, and she knew the longer she talked, the longer she would keep from throwing up - she could almost taste the vomit lingering in her tongue, awaiting for it's escape to the floor...
His smirk faltered slightly, a visible, triumphal smile replacing it instead. With his eyebrows raised, he answered as curtly as possible, "Oh, didn't you know? She's my sister."
~*~