Aftermath
By Nutty Scribbler
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. There, I've said it.
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He placed the solitary rose on the snow covered memorial its silken red petals reminiscent of fresh blood. She had seen a lot of blood in the last few years: fresh blood, dried blood, the blood of her enemies, the blood of her friends, her own blood...
Pale blonde hair shone the color of white gold in the rapidly setting winter sun, eyes the color of grey sleet. He had always been handsome; irritatingly cute as a boy and heartbreakingly handsome as a man. At close quarters, she had a fleeting thought about how ridiculous it is that a man should have such long eyelashes and alabaster skin a girl would die for.
"Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would come and pay his last respects to Harry Potter?" she spoke up, breaking the almost serene silence between them.
"He was a good man – a bit lacking between his ears – but a good man nonetheless," he said indifferently. "He was a good soldier, a good comrade, a good leader and he did save the world, after all. I suppose I owe him that much."
"A good friend, too, perhaps?"
The corners of his mouth lifted into a something that could have been a smile, "Don't you think that it is even more preposterous to suggest that a Malfoy ever had a friend?"
"The world is an unpredictable place," she countered, twirling a lock of flame colored hair with her fingers. "Who would have taught that Draco Malfoy would turn good in the end?"
"If you assume my joining the Order meant that I've turned good, you're very much mistaken, Ginevra. I'm still very much a bastard at heart," he responded coolly. "I'm a Malfoy; I do what I must in order to ensure the survival of my clan. No point boarding a rapidly sinking ship. One must learn to change with the times. My father never learnt that lesson, and look where he is now," he said, referring to his father's lifelong imprisonment in Azkaban.
She smiled faintly; he would rather choke to death on mashed bananas than admit that he wasn't the greatest prat in the world after all.
Draco caught her expression and raised one blonde eyebrow at her. He was the only person she knew who could do that. No matter how many hours she stood in front of her mirror, practicing, she always failed to replicate the expression that was entirely endemic to Draco Malfoy alone. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It doesn't hurt to think that you have some good in that cold and icy heart of yours, Malfoy."
His face contorted into an expression of pure disgust, "For the love of Merlin, Ginevra, has the War not taught you that your Gryffindoric idealism cannot exist in this world?"
The horrors of the War would linger in the back of their minds forever, unfading memories that they will carry with them until it was time for them to leave this world. They will never forget the stench of blood, the bodies of fallen friends and foes, the cries of the innocent, the salty tears they shed, the crazed fear in the pits of their stomachs and the rush of adrenaline that came with each kill. Sometimes, Ginny still woke up gasping in the middle of the night, from nightmares so vivid, she could have sworn that the Final Battle was just a dream, and that they were still embroiled in the heat of the battle between Good and Evil.
"The War has taught me many things," Ginny said quietly, her eyes sweeping the countless rows of markers bearing the names of members of the Order that paid for price of peace with their lives. "It has taught me that the world can be a cruel place and Death comes to all at the most inopportune of times. But it has also taught me to cherish what I have now, and to always hope."
"Hope," Draco said, his voice tinged with distaste, "is such a bland word, like lukewarm tea. It speaks of a promise that may never be carried out. Give me fame and fortune any day."
Ginny sighed. Draco was such a pessimist she didn't know why she hangs out with him. While other people are celebrating Tom Marvolo Riddle's downfall in a subdued manner, in light that their hero, Harry Potter had died to bring about the Order's victory, Draco was morosely predicting the next apocalypse over a bottle of whisky. For some unknown reason, Ginny had found herself sitting beside him that night instead of at going home to the Burrow. She had convinced herself that she couldn't bear the thought of facing her family just yet, in what that would have been a bittersweet reunion, on account of Percy's death.
"You are rich and famous already," she reminded him. "Playwitch has listed you as the most eligible bachelor in England since Harry's not here any more."
"So I am," the blonde man said mirthlessly.
The red-headed woman shivered in the chilly winter breeze and mentally cursed for having forgotten her cloak yet again. She was still adapting back into her old life as a civilian. During the War, a cloak would have been cumbersome when engaged in a life or death struggle. The heat of the battle kept her warm enough then, even in the coldest winter.
He reached to the knot on his neck and undid it. The black cloak slid of his body in one fluid motion. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.
"No, thanks, I'll be just fine," Ginny told him, trying to stop her teeth from chattering, her breath coming out in white puffs of condensations.
Her companion rolled his eyes skyward before he draped the heavy garment around her and knotted it unceremoniously at the hollow of her throat. He took one step back and admired his handiwork.
She was a very beautiful woman, with her hair running down her back in a river of fire against the midnight black of his cloak. Her brown orbs were warm and expressive, but he could detect the darkness in their depths. Once upon a time, he thought her freckles ugly, but now, he just thinks that the sprinkle of dots across the bridge of her nose made her look adorable in a childish way.
Draco noted that she was still a little gaunt. Her otherwise slender frame was muscular from the countless hours of training she went through during her term in the Order. He had seen her in action, finishing her opponents with curses that he could testify that it hurt an awful lot (he had never forgotten that bat-bogey hex from his fifth year), like a seraphim descending from the heavens to strike evil down.
"We should go now," he said as he turned away, the fine snow crunching under his leather boots. "It's getting late."
She nodded, hugging his cloak closer to himself.
The man hesitated for a moment before asking, "Do you want to go get a Butterbeer or something?"
Ginny raised an eyebrow at his request. She was so surprised that she was entirely unaware that she had finally managed to accomplish the feat that she had been trying to for the past few years.
"Are you asking me out, as a friend?" she asked, resisting the urge to grin widely.
He rolled his eyes skyward in exasperation again, "I told you not to make preposterous assumptions about Malfoys having friends."
"Then why are you asking me out then?"
"Don't get me wrong; I'm just trying to get into the pants of a woman I find pretty," he answered drolly.
She couldn't help but smile at his backhanded compliment, "You should ask me out for something that's stronger than Butterbeer, then."
Draco Malfoy sighed. He really could never really understand why she manages to irate him in a way no other person has every irritated him before, not even Harry Potter. Briefly, he wondered when have the days where women swoon immediately when a man as handsome as he ask them out. His larger hand reached out and took her hand in his, and his stomach flipped over once when she made no move to stop him.
Wordlessly, they left the cemetery without looking back at the rose that was rapidly being covered with falling snow.
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Post Talk:
Pardon the grammar mistakes and all as it was written when I'm in a half-daze. Awww... my eyes are practically shut. I think I spent too long on the comp.
Review please.
Nutty Scribbler
9 October 2004, 4:31 pm