Abandon
Narcissa Malfoy was delicately beautiful for many reasons. Her bright, silver-blonde hair scrambled down her shoulders like she was a goddess, her gray eyes glimmered even in the timid sunlight, and the small, black dress that she was wearing fit her slender body like second skin, her nose small, her face pale, the only thing luminous the red lips that stood out, like two purloin rubies shimmering in their classic bloodied color. Her features detected distress, the fine lines in her wrinkles were barely visible but she was frowning so grotesquely that the lines were fairly abrupt.
"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed, waving a hand, offering him a forced smile, then her eyes turning to Ginny, who had quickly gotten off of him, and was now sitting at the edge of her bed, her heart rising to her throat in complete shock.
"And who is this?" Narcissa asked, the question hissing out of her mouth with a violent glare.
"This," Draco replied, his voice cold but collective, imitating his mother's hiss, "Is Ginny. Ginny, won't you be a dear and get off my leg?"
Ginny threw him an extremely dirty look before gracefully tumbling off, straightening her hospital gown, folding down the creases, and waved at Narcissa with a polite smile. "Hello."
Narcissa acknowledged her with a nod. "Draco, can we talk, please? Alone?" she said, embellishing on the last word, her nails digging into her chin as she said this with the sweetest smile she could possibly manage.
"Anything you have to say you can say in front of Ginny, mother," he drawled, using the term 'mother' rather loosely.
Ginny widened her eyes, quickly observing both of them with a small, forced plastered smile. "Oh, no, no, please, no trouble at all. Excuse me," she said hurriedly, brushing past the gorgeous woman and opening the door, and without a glance, quickly running out of the room and nudging the door closed behind her.
~*~
Ginny Weasley finally had time to herself. She remembered thinking quiet was all she needed, a time to relax her eyes and not feel her injuries suffocate her constantly. And yet, there were too many thoughts to occupy her head. Why had Narcissa come? Although disgusted with herself for doubting that Narcissa had visited her son on the sake of willingness, she knew the possibility had rare chances. And of course, was Narcissa really his mother in the first place? Pity and disbelief filled her chest like water filling a glass, as she reflected on what had happened in barely a couple of weeks. Was it a mistake bringing Draco to the Burrow? Would all these things have been neglected from happening if Draco wasn't present?
No, she told herself firmly. Don't even think it, Ginny Weasley. He was going to die, and the guilt if you left him like that is much more painful than this. It has to be more painful then this, she persuaded herself. The thought of Draco mangled somewhere on the sidewalks of London was almost unbearable. She flinched at the mental image, and then felt a lump rise in her throat. Damn it, she groaned silently. Don't cry now. He's fine. Really. He's fine - he's fine...
But tears were rolling involuntarily down her cheeks, landing into the edge of her mouth. The thought of somebody hurting Draco - it hurt her more than she could ever imagine. Why was she feeling this way? About him? He teased her in school, bullied her about the crush on Harry she had, and did many other horrible things, like ruining a portion of her brother's life, and yet here she was, caring about him. It was ridiculous.
No it's not, a small voice in the back of her mind. It's not ridiculous to love someone so much that it hurts you physically. It's not ridiculous if your heart burns for him because it'll never be requited. It's not ridiculous to pray sometimes at night, wishing he would feel the same way, wishing he'd bring you some happiness instead of sadness. It's not ridiculous to wince every time he acts like you don't exist, and only pretend to care because of other...relations. It's not ridiculous...because you can't help who you love.
Are we talking about Draco here...or someone else? she asked herself, but her mind had no answer. Her heart was pounding frantically against her chest as she leaned against the wall, trying to smear the tears on her cheeks with the sides of her fingers, feeling the usual flush wash over her face. There was a soft voice that suddenly prompted her to open her eyes quickly. The person had evidently been passing by when he had caught sight of her.
"Ginny?" It was Harry, leaning over her, grazing his cheekbone in his hand. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Do you want me to get you back to your room?"
She took a sharp intake of her breath. It was as if she was just meeting him. His features were very unlike Draco's, more peach-colored than pale white, like Draco's. His glasses fell over at the tip of his nose, and he clumsily nudged them with the tips of his fingers. She felt a smile crawl into his face. Even now, there was still that little feeling when he was around. She didn't know him, of course - because he spent more time with his two best friends. She didn't know him at all, and he didn't know her either. But the way he was leaning, their bodies perfectly angled so that every curve met every other curve. She found herself digging her face into his neck as he awkwardly caressed her shoulders with both hands. The small tingling sensations she often felt with him were gone. They were replaced by something more profound, something old and natural that had been reserved for the last ten years. It was never like this with Draco, in which she felt new, refreshing bliss.
And she had no idea whether that was a bad thing or a good thing. And she had no idea which was better.
The door swung open, to reveal a flustered-looking Narcissa Malfoy. She ran past them, the back of her dress fluttering in the distance. There were more footsteps audible as Draco came out of the room, looking after his mother in a sneering disgust before his eyes captured on the embracing couple near him. His lips parted, but no words came out. Harry let go of Ginny so easily, so quickly that she felt a small eluding disappointment, but then was shocked to see the look on Draco's face.
It was a rigid, calculating look, almost emotionless. His voice came out slightly stifled as he spoke. "I see."
Harry started to protest, "No, it's not--" but Draco didn't let him finish. Holding up a hand, he raised an eyebrow at them once more before entering his room, and slamming the door so hard behind him that the window of it seemed to jingle before it cracked into several lines - pure, untouched glass was now tainted, and Ginny could not help but thinking that there might be a similarity with his heart.
~*~
Draco failed to observe the brighter view of this day. He felt as if he had been kneed in the groin, surfaced against ice, and slid across burning fire. It was worse enough that guilt filled him whenever he saw Ginny, it was worse enough his mother had stopped by and they had argued instantly the moment the door slammed shut and she left in fury, unable to say what she was there for. It was worse enough - that when he finally felt civil toward Potter, even felt teasingly enticed by him - a friendship was almost possible - that all hell had broken loose and unleashed itself on him. Potter had embraced Ginny with his own arms, and she had cried on his shoulder - why was she acting as if they were the only ones in the world? What emotion had become so distraught, so taken away from her that she turned to Potter instead of him?
There was an audible knock on the door. He didn't turn around, didn't say a thing. He looked at his bed as if it was the most interesting object in the world, as if it's particles were more important than anything else's. Harry's footsteps were even familiar to him, as were Ginny's. He felt his lips crawl into a sardonic grin. He had no idea what other expression was available for show. "Hello," he drawled without turning to look at him. "Come to gloat, Potter?"
"No," Harry replied, somewhat of uncertainty ringing in his voice. "Malfoy, look --"
"No, you look here, Potter." Draco had now turned around, stonily glaring at the person before him. His knees were shaking, but his mouth kept going, and his tongue refused to roll off the words. "For almost seven years I watched you get whatever you wanted, to have all the fame anybody could ask for. I've watched you catch the snitch numerous times, make me feel like a complete idiot, made Slytherin look like some kind of a fool. But it's my turn now. You can't have her. She belongs to me. She belongs to me!" he yelled, his saliva sprinkling on his face.
She. Belongs. To me.
The words charged him like electricity, hitting him with the shock and apprehension he had been holding in. He knew Harry was looking back at him, awestruck.
It even hurt to blink.
Draco felt dazed as he fell against the bed, turning over. He didn't want to look at Harry. Because the words were still echoing in his eardrums, more clear than ever. And he was sure Ginny had heard them as well, because his voice had reached it's limit. His throat ached from the screaming. He struggled to strife with himself. He clenched his fists, not even caring anymore if Potter was still standing there, looking at him, just sinking into the warmth of his blankets and dissolving into the sweetest slumber he had ever had. Because this time, he had an odd feeling nobody would wake him up this time.
~*~
Ginny Weasley fought with herself all the way to her hospital room. I shouldn't be eavesdropping, she thought to herself sternly. I can tolerate myself. If they want to discuss this, they will discuss it on their own. But the feeling of plunging suspision lay itself upon her chest, refusing to let go. The look of complete, serene calm had poured over Draco's face, and Ginny couldn't get it out of her mind. That look, that look that represented repressed anger, sustained uneasiness with a block of a blink.
As she swung open the door, she entered her room. Somehow she felt it was glittering with something that had entered along with her. There was a new tray, filled with various colored contents, and her bed had been made once more, neat and trim at the corners of the bedspread. She gave a soft yawn, her arms outstretched as she tumbled backwards into the bed, careful not to leave any creases, and closed her eyes, wishing for a blissful sleep that would take her away and make her vanish quietly. But there was no such look, as she heard Brooke's voice calling sharply from the doorway.
"Ginny!" the exasperated voice of Brooke prompted. "Where did you go?"
"Wandering," she muttered,
"Wandering," Brooke repeated, shaking her head in mere disappointment. "Settle down, I have to bewitch your last wound."
"Is it going to hurt?" Ginny asked, her shoulders tensing as she sat up, unbuttoning the front of her blue robe, and settling it at her bare shoulders, looking expectantly around the room as Brooke took something that seemed to be a small, light pale bottle that contained something violet bubbling from the inside. Brooke frowned in concentration, her eyebrows furrowing, her forehead ceasing in many lines, and her skin making their wrinkles visible.
"If you don't move," Brooke replied curtly, and unscrewed the top of the bottle, and placed it on her neck, letting the potion suffice in her skin. It crawled among the many layers of her skin, stinging it, refreshing her blood Ginny closed her eyes, the intensifying emotion of fear overcoming her. It was the heart-shaped scar she was going to attempt to unscramble, to fix, to mend. Don't you know? she wanted to yell. Don't you know it'll never be fixed? Even if it vanishes, can you fix the one in my heart too?
"Damn!" Brooke cursed.
"What is it?" she whispered timidly. She didn't need to open her eyes when the answer came.
"It won't mend."
"It won't?" she echoed in what must've sounded like a wistful question.
"No it won't. It's like it's - it's far too - far too-" Brooke waved her hand, looking as if the word was at the tip of her tongue, waiting for it's release.
"Broken," Ginny murmured underneath her breath, a chill running over her body like an ocean splashing over her lungs.
~*~
Harry was in turmoil as he reached The Burrow, with Hermione walking behind him, her arms folded across her chest, her head bowed, not saying a word. Their footsteps clattered, crunching on the fresh grass, the dewy smell hovering beneath his nostrils, his hands stuck firmly inside his pockets.
"Harry?" Hermione prompted suddenly, jerking her head upwards toward him.
"Mmm?" he murmured, still preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"What happened? Why did you want to leave?" she asked, a curious look pouring over her face as she tilted her head. He was envious of her face - it had the gentle brushing of her tender looking hair surrounding it, enveloping her face in many strands. Gulping slightly, he pushed away a tendril of her hair and pushed it behind her ears, feeling the tips of his fingers tingle as they touched her neck. She gazed at him with an unexpected puzzlement.
"I - I just - nothing," he stammered, the words rolling off his tongue, mingled with saliva. "It's nothing. I just don't feel comfortable there. If you want to go back..."
She shook her head, a smile erupting into her mouth. "No, no, it's alright, Harry. No need to explain," she protested, her smile turning into a grim grin. "I know what's going on here. But you don't need to be shy around Ginny."
"What?" Harry sputtered, in utter puzzlement. His eyebrows arched upwards.
"I know you have a little crush on her!" Hermione drawled carelessly. "It's fine with me, no need to pretend."
"Hermione ---" he interrupted abruptly, a look of frustration stringing over his blinded expression. "I don't like Ginny," he said, saying her name carefully, shifting uneasily at the look of concentration penetrating onto her face.
"Then who?" she asked thoughtfully, blinking at him.
Harry wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, ask her why didn't she notice the person right in front of her. Instead, he shoved down the lump rising in his throat and forced his voice to stay steady. "Hermione..." His heartbeat was faltering. He was going to tell her once and for all. Sweat was dribbling into his chest from his neckline. He could count every wrinkle on her face, every emotion, everything that flashed through her eyes. He felt exposed. But no matter how much he wanted to keep his lips tightly closed together in uniting, he knew this would have to be over with once and for all. He opened his mouth - the glowering realization creased the lines on her face, but she remained quietly, watching him try to speak. The words refused to come out, only various choking noises escaped, still lingering in his tongue and waiting to be set back to his mind.
"Hey, you two lovebirds over there, does Draco Malfoy live here?"
The loud question brought them back to reality. Jumping a slight distance in the air in surprise, they turned, and saw that they were not alone. Against the door of the entrance stood a woman. But not just any woman. This was a woman that took his breath away and even made Hermione gape in shock. Her clothes were skimpy, fitting her like second skin, clinging onto her, wrapping around her every round curve, and caressing her tight stomach. She had a cigarette placed in between her fingers, and the aroma rose unpleasantly under their noses as she took a small intake of it, and made the dusty smoke escape once more through her glittering pink lips. Her hair had a remarkable resemblance toward Ginny's as well, at the side of her gray eyes were red ringlets of auburn that cascaded through her shoulder blades.
"Who - who are you?" Hermione squeaked. Harry didn't blame her. This woman was not only breathtaking, but also three feet taller than her, and towered over them, and she looked only in her thirties still.
She raised a small eyebrow at them, twirling the cigarette in between her fingers as if it was as light as a feather, smoke filling the air and swerving around in circular motions. "Me? Oh. I am his - his -" she gestured in the air, shrugging her shoulders.
"His what?" Harry said, giving her a stern look. He tried to look braver than he felt. He wondered if the woman was strong enough to hold him down and press the cigarette tip into his skull and turn him into ashes.
She looked at him skeptically, calculating him, then made a sardonic uplift of her lips. "Damn, you look good."
"Excuse me!" Hermione said, poising forward with her hands on her hips, glaring at the woman with determination visible in her features. "I asked, who are you? This is not your property."
"Who am I?" the woman echoed, anger rising in her voice, audible and louder than ever.
"Yes," retorted Hermione snappishly. "You were about to tell us. Draco's--?"
The woman took another puff of the cigarette, rising her arm above her head and leaning against the door, a sly look over her face. "Draco's...mother?"
~*~
Draco was asleep. Ginny hadn't observed him asleep before, and now that she had, she immediately regretted it. The circles under his eyes were more than visible, etched into his flesh. He looked weak and pale, his knees brought up to barely brush against his lips, curled into a ball, his teeth caught one of his overlarge silver-blonde strands. She touched his hair, feeling the silky surface between her fingers, making a mental note that he needed a haircut once he was out of here. Her hair fell in curls, tickling the sides of his nose. He made a sudden movement, something choked in his throat as he opened his eyes, rubbing them vigorously before blinking them into vision several times, as if he wasn't going to believe what he was seeing.
"Hi," Ginny greeted nervously, pulling away from him, her hand caressing his shoulder slightly.
"Hello," Draco replied stonily, his features turning from oblivious to stern. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Weasley?" he sneered in a malicious voice.
The word hit her like ice. Her mouth seemed to get much too dry, her throat itched, struggling to get saliva. She withdrew her hand sharply from his shoulder, stumbling back into the room. She wanted to gasp, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hurt him as much as possible. This couldn't be. No, things would not go back to the way they were. Not after this. Not after all that had happened. She couldn't stifle her shock anymore. She fell back into a nearby chair beside his bed, avoiding his eyes. She wouldn't look at him. Never again. Not when these tears were stinging in her eyes, not when her knees were shaking.
It was too good to be true, her mind prompted at her haughtily. You didn't think he'd actually be different, did you? Did you draw a fantasy of Draco Malfoy and expect him to become it forever? Because if you did, you are a fucking idiot, Ginny Weasley, a fucking idiot.
He's not a fantasy. He's real.
But not the way she thought he would be.
"Weasley, could you stop blubbering? I am trying to sleep here," said the exasperated voice of Draco from his bed, his face expressionless, his voice blunt and hard. The tone of voice was so familiar that it plunged into her brain in realization.
Where had she heard that kind of voice before?
Devon. He's Devon.
Nothing else.
She pushed back her chair so abruptly that Draco jumped upright into an awkward sitting position, a look of both concern and puzzlement falling over her face.
Ginny was tripping over her own legs, slurring the words that she wanted to come out of her mouth. The tears dissolved into the corner of her mouth and lingered it's salty particles at her dry, fuzzy tongue. The world was beneath her, she could feel it. Her heart was jumping, leaping for control, shattering into pieces at the same time. This is not real, she told herself. Nothing is real anymore. Nothing.
He had fooled her.
Just like Devon, just like Devon, her mind mocked.
He was going to pay.
He was going to pay.
She was going to make him pay.
She wouldn't let anybody else ever hurt her again.
Because, she thought, the tears now dribbling down to her chin, it's not possible for any more pain. I'll die.
Then again, I'll have to, anyways.
Her vision turned into a million shades of white before she collapsed, hearing Draco cry out loud as she fell to the floor facedown, smashing like several cracks on the floor, her heartbeat faltering almost as if it were snowflakes that fell down in a particularly slow, feathery process. Blood was trickling at the side of her face, rolling off her cheeks, and staining her gown in auburn liquid. And if anyone had looked closely, they could see the smallest bit of a satisfied smile crawled at the corners of her lips in a threatening uplift.
~*~
Death is a hollow dream. It surrounds you with darkness and until you open your eyes you can never see the light again. Any voices, sound, was deprived from Ginny in such a way that she was in pure belief that she was dead. The regretful sorrow filled her chest, brushing against each other like a magnetic electrification, too false to be real, and too real to touch with the tips of her fingers. How could she be dead? She would never see her family again, never see Harry again, never see Draco again. She didn't have to supress her fears or sadness here, where the havens were steel and the color was black.
She pondered the many corridors of death, walking swiftly, because whenever she turned, colors would change and blur in her vision like a domestic painting. She wondered if there would ever be any other color besides black, and then the world changed blue all of a sudden. It just seemed so real, and yet when she tried to grasp the images around her, she couldn't, it was like transparent reality that escaped from her hand and icy cool air that tickled her fingers.
"Ginny," a sudden voice called. She wasn't allowed to feel startled or surprised. Death is no emotion. Death is nothing, like a blank insomniac air that rushes through you as you hang onto the edge and try to never let go.
"Ginny, can you hear me?" the voice said again, gentle and soft. She recognized that voice quickly - it was Draco's voice. But where was he? She wanted to speak, but death wouldn't let her. Any words that came out of her mouth were muffled by burbles, nothing, her words were blocked by pure air, because death's air is invisible ice that you can't talk through, walk through, or feel through.
"No," she wanted to say. "I am right here. I am in death."
But then something was pulling her - something large, massive was pulling onto her mouth - what was happening? It was sucking her lungs out. Death was dissolving around her, similar to many swirling pieces of paint, and she could feel her feet leaving the stone. She was leaving. Bliss overcame her as she closed her eyes and drowned into the feeling of being torn apart into shreds and back again, mending her, loving her. She awoke with a lurch, with somebody's lips fixating on hers, tender, timid and hopeful, and opened her eyes to the brightening light and wanted to cry, thinking about all those times she wanted to keep her eyes closed. She wanted to sob uncontrollably when the light adjusted to her vision, beaming into her pupils.
Because the light was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
~*~