Hey everyone. This was inspired by the movie Final destination. It's not actually like it, but I watched it today and it got me thinking about death and this idea just kinda popped into my head. Read and tell my what ya think. :D

GINNY AND I: BY DRACO MALFOY

Prologue

I used to be afraid of dying. Terrified that one day might be my last. That it would happen at any time. I used to ask myself, would I be satisfied that I had fulfilled my life's purpose? Would it be an excruciating painful experience, the kind where the pain is so intense you'd rather die just to make it stop; or would it be a peaceful, almost spiritual experience. Some nights I would just lye awake worrying, because life is fragile right? One minute you could be having a game of quidditch with your teammates, and then the next you could quite easily be decapitated by a speeding bludger.

That's what happened to a girl I used to know. Well, she didn't actually get hit by a bludger while playing quidditch. It was much more unfortunate than that. She was murdered. A perfectly innocent girl's life was taken from her. Of every single day I've walked this earth I'd have to count that as the most memorable. Not because I was rejoicing that someone I hated was dead….well, at the time I hated her, or thought I did. It was memorable because it was horrific. That's all there was too it. It was horrific. Nothing could have ever prepared me for what I saw. It wasn't that I hadn't seen death before. I had seen it a number of times, what with my father's line of………work. But all the murder victims I'd seen were killed using magic. This was a different story altogether.

The memory still clings to me today, twenty years later.

It was the middle of winter, and it was the first night in two weeks that it wasn't snowing. Although it was below freezing outside, the night was clear and crisp, and I needed a walk down by the lake to take my mind off things. These things more specifically being my looming dooms day. Father was forcing me to become a death eater. I didn't want it. I was only sixteen years old. I thought myself to be an adult but as that day drew nearer I was feeling more and more like a scared little kid than I'd ever been.

I strolled along, hands in pockets, listening to the snow crunch underfoot when I saw a crumpled form in the snow about ten feet away. As I came closer I could see a silky iridescent mop of red hair sticking out the top of her robes. I stood over her to get a closer look and my stomach gave a nauseating flip when I saw the state she was in. Dark red blood, so dark it almost gave into black, was pooled under her pale features and matted into her hair. There was other matter in the blood, but I think its best for anyone reading this if I skip describing that part.

I was in shock. Five minutes must have passed while I stood there breathing raggedly and shaking. She was obviously dead. Her brains were spilling out for Merlin's sake. I don't think trying to find a pulse would have proved anything that I didn't already know. It's funny how time escapes you at certain moments of crisis. I know I don't have any concept of time from the moment I found her until I woke up the next morning. I don't know how long it took for me to find help. Or how long it was until I finally stopped staring at the body bag sitting on the stretcher, waiting to be taken away so they could do whatever it is they do to people when they die. Time ceased to exist that night. But it sure as hell came back with a vengeance the next day.

By the time breakfast was over, everyone knew. People all around were talking about how close they were to her; even those who wouldn't even give her the time of day when she was alive. It made me sick to watch them. Sure, it's okay to mourn, but mourn accordingly. If it had been me that had died I wouldn't want everyone pretending like I was the most perfect person in the world. I wouldn't want everyone to pretend like they loved me, like I was their best friend when I wasn't. And I knew half those people didn't even know anything apart from her name, and maybe a few other trivial things.

Now that I think back, I was just as bad as the rest of them. I felt like I had more of a right to mourn her death than any of them. Like they didn't understand who she was or what she was about the way that I did, when really, I knew just as much about her, if not less than they did.

Anyway, time dragged throughout the day. People all around were whispering. Everyone wanted to know who did it. How they did it. Why they did it. Who found her. I sure as hell wasn't going to open my mouth and say I was the one. I didn't need the accusations to come flying towards me. Because that's what would've happened. If I had so much as opened my mouth it would be as good as a murder confession. All they saw in me was my name. Associating her name with mine in a murder, well. Let's just say if student vote were law – I'd be rotting in Azkaban as we speak.

The funeral was nice, as funerals go. People cried. Her family was shattered. Nothing was the same. No one was the same. Even me. Especially me. I know I said before that finding her was the most horrific memory I have – but I think the funeral affected me more. I don't know why. It's one of those things you just can't explain. I'm not even sure how I stayed composed. On the inside I was cracking. That had never happened to me before. Never. But why had the fate of this girl affected me so much? It wasn't like it was my first traumatic experience in my life.

I was about to find out, because the strangest thing happened when I forlornly trudged up to my room that night. I walked into the room to find a red headed girl sitting on my bed sobbing. When she saw me her tears dried up immediately. She stared up at me with her haunting brown eyes and smiled weakly.

"Weasley?" I asked shakily. "But you're…you're.."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Dead," she whispered.

I simply stared back. Strangely, I was not afraid, just a little unnerved by the whole scenario. Something told me that it was normal for a dead girl to be sitting on my bed talking to me. I swear I wasn't crazy. Just slightly out of touch. But I understood her. I knew exactly what she wanted me to do for her.

"You want me to find who killed you, don't you?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Who was it?" I sat down hesitantly on the other side of the bed.

"I don't remember," she sighed, "I need you to help me find out."

"Why me?" I already knew. It was because I was the one who found her. And I was the only one who could see her. Of course, at the time I didn't know this. But everything seemed to fit. Why she was here. Why she needed me.

"You found me, Draco. I can't imagine how horrible that was for you. You need answers just as much as I do."

I'm not quite sure I agreed with her there. She was the one who was dead. I still had my whole life ahead of me, well, supposedly. She deserved to know who her murderer was more than I did, but I agreed to help her. When she smiled back at me, it was like a soft glow. I could feel the happiness radiating off her. It was weak through her pain. But it was there. I know this sounds corny, but it gave me hope. What for I don't know. But it did. And I knew then that she would have to leave eventually, and I wasn't sure if I wanted her too.

So now I, Draco Malfoy, will tell you how Ginny Weasley changed my outlook on not only life, but also death. How I loved her. How I still love her. It's hard when you fall in love with someone you just can't have. Trust me, love does not conquer all. At least not death anyway. But I sure as hell wish it did.

This is the story of Ginny and I.

That's the prologue………………should I continue? Its different to my other two fics so I'm not sure if anyone will like. Lemme know alrighty

REVIEW!!!

~ SeZzA ~