Blood is pooled on the floor. Smeared on the walls and on his arms in the shape of her fingers. She had tried to fight, as they all do.
She is crumpled on the kitchen floor. Her beauty is marred by the blood and open wounds.
She is nude and almost every inch of her body is bleeding.
Her red hair is matted with blood.
They all have red hair. Most have brown eyes.
But these girls are children, children playing dress up. They wear too much rouge and their lipstick is too dark and their hair is stiff with hair potions.
None of them have her spark. Her effortless sex appeal. Her innocence, her danger, her charm.
And, of course, none of them broke his heart.
"Incendio."
The corpse bursts into flames. He will clean up the ashes later.
He is going out.
The club is crowded. He sits at the bar, a glass of scotch in his hand, and surveys the scene. The air is thick with smoke and perfume and sweat.
Several girls are glancing his way, their over-painted lips curved into flirtatious smiles. He knows that he, with his sleek blonde hair, cold grey eyes, and Seeker's toned body, is attractive. He could easily pick up any woman in this club. But he is looking for someone special.
When he sees her, his eyes light up with a sort of malicious glee. Tall, slender, dark eyes, scarlet hair hanging in waves past her shoulders. She is leaning against the wall, a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
He downs his scotch and stands up. Twisting his face into a warm smile, he makes his way across the club.
He is standing by her in a matter of minutes.
Turn on the nice-guy charm.
"How's it taste?"
She looks up, startled. When she sees him, her eyes sparkle with something like recognition.
"Excuse me?"
"Your drink," he says smoothly," How does it taste?"
She shifts her arms, which are crossed over her chest. "That is the lamest pick up line I've ever heard."
"Nah, I bet you've heard worse."
She laughs, a light, airy sound that sounds familiar to his ears, like the breathy quality of her voice.
"Let me buy you a drink."
"Martini please."
"Make it a vodka tonic."
She glances at him, obviously slightly annoyed.
"Come on, a big girl like yourself can handle something stronger than a martini."
The bartender slides a glass toward her, and she makes a face as she swallows. But she asks for another.
He leans across his stool and presses his lips against hers.
As he guessed, she does not stop him.
Instead, she kisses him back with fierce intensity.
These kisses. I know these kisses.
Through the kiss, he smiles.
Ginny.
She is giggling as they walk up the steps to his flat. Her steps are clumsy. She is tripping over her own feet.
He leads her to the couch and goes to the kitchen. The pile of ashes, the last of last night's girl, are on the tile floor. He waves his hand and they fly into the wastebin.
"Would you like some coffee?"
She makes a small noise that he takes to mean yes. He wants to sober her up somewhat. If she is smashed, it will be too easy.
He hands the coffee to her and kneels in front of her.
"I hope you like it black."
She takes a sip, wincing as it burns her tongue.
"So," he says,"what have you been up to?"
She holds the mug in her hand and looks at it as she speaks. "I'm training to become an Auror." Her speech is slightly slurred.
"Impressive," he says with a smirk. "And, are you and Harry still . . . ?"
She makes a face. "Don't say that name to me."
Hah. He broke her heart. Just as she broke mine.
She gives a little shiver.
"You must be cold."
She looks up at him.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes."
Slowly, gently, he removes her clothes. He takes time to admire her body. This is the body he laid with for so many nights. The body he wanted to ravage. The body that belonged to someone else, someone he hated above all others.
When she is down to her gbra and knickers, standing in front of him, she crosses her arms over her as if to hide her body.
"Draco, you . . . you never used to be this nice."
He slips a hand into his back pocket. His fingers close around the handle of the knife. "Well, some things change."
With that, he pulls out the knife. She jumps back, no longer concerned with covering her body. Her eyes have a frightened, panicked look.
"You hurt me, Ginny."
He takes a step toward her. She takes another step back.
"You were the only person I ever loved. You changed me."
He waves the knife menacingly.
"And you left me. You left me, Draco fucking Malfoy, for that prick Potter!"
"I – I'm sorry," she sputters.
"Sorry? SORRY?"
He smiles slightly and looks down at the knife.
"Are you scared, Ginny?"
She doesn't answer, merely gazes at the knife, waiting for it to move.
"You should be," he says. "I've killed so many girls. None of them as beautiful as you. None of them as smart, or interesting, or attractive as you. But now . . . Now, I've got you. Here. The last and most important piece in my collection."
She turns to run, and he smiles and grabs her by the hair. She screams and claws at his arms, drawing blood, but he doesn't let go. He drags her into the bedroom and closes the door.
He stands in the shower, hot water all around him. He watches the water turning red around his feet, and smiles.
He steps out, wraps a towel around his waist, and looks into the mirror. Scratches run down the lengths of his cheeks, down over his neck, onto his chest. Where her fingernails had dug into him as he thrust himself inside her.
He smiles and hums to himself as he pulls on a silk pair of pajama pants. He walks to the bed.
There she lays. Dressed in the white gown he had put her in. The wedding dress he dreamt of her wearing. Now stained with blood. Her lips and eyes are painted, and he has brushed her hair so that it fans out neatly behind her. She is so beautiful, even in death.
He crawls into the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist.
Placing a kiss against her cold neck, he closes his eyes.
Now, she is his.