Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
Summary: In a crumbling castle, two people reflect on what might have been, what should have been.
Rating: PG-13

Moments

Dust filled the corridors in billowing clouds. Another wall fell as one more important ward surrounding the castle wavered and then broke.

Streaks of dust smudged the deep black of his cloak to a dirty grey. It dulled his silver mask hanging idly from long fingers. The platinum blonde hair was brown and dishevelled.

The black hem of his robe was dusty in the debris.

But his eyes were quicksilver bright, a keen and shining grey, as he walked rapidly from the creaking, crumbling walls.

There. A sturdy portal, the rocks still firm, the wooden door still mostly intact. He ducked in to escape the still settling debris.

A wand in one hand, an old mask once new in the other. A quick scan revealed what he should have known – the infirmary. The last place to fall, the last stronghold in a battle.

But the beds were empty of life and full of bodies. It was cluttered with stone and mortar here too. Hexes had torn into the stone walls and chunks of rock made his path narrow.

Grey eyes flicked over the bodies in the beds, thrown helter-skelter in the room, dispassionately. Once he blinked as he looked over a bead. For a moment it had looked like Granger.

But then he remembered, there were no names. There was only the enemy. And then there was a shuddering gasp, the noise of hands scrabbling amidst rocks and dust. He whirled.

He forgot there were no names as he breathed out, "Weasley!"

His wand was at his side, her hand was in a pocket. They drew. And he laughed at the absurdity facing him.

Her hand had fumbled. She had grabbed a sugar quill hastily jammed in her robe pocket earlier that day, when she thought there was still time for fun and laughter.

Brook brown eyes flicked to her wand hand, grey in the dust, a sugar quill aimed threateningly at Malfoy.

"Don't laugh." She wheezed out. Absurdly, at a time like this, humiliation burned and stained dusty grey cheeks a rosy red. He'd always been able to make her feel like she was less than she was.

She lowered her arm and tried to breath normally. He stepped closer.

His voice was smooth, cultured, she felt like a frump. But she was mortally injured she was allowed, godammit! "With hair such of such a grotesque orange providing a target, it's a wonder you're still alive." The same old mockery.

But there was no sneer on his face as he admired the way the evening sun glinted through the dust covered red locks, and took away the grime of war and death. It was burnished gold, it was Gryffindor red, and she was beautiful in her deathly defiance.

He crouched before her in the grey dust, his black cloak trailing. Slender hands tilted her face towards him, and shining brown met shining silver, and once more they were students passing in the halls.

Not enemies sharing in death.

"They sent me here to search out survivors." He said, inexplicably feeling the need to explain his presence. Forgetting the mask in the dust beside him that told her what he was doing.

"Well don't worry about killing me, I'm already dying." Her face tilted up rebelliously, as she gasped in another breath. "And you have to watch me." Triumph flashed gold through brown.

He blinked speculatively. "I could kill you faster. I could leave."

She grinned and white teeth flashed in a grey face. "Can't! You're trapped in here. Wards and spells set by a dying woman are made to last to her death. You can get in, but you can't leave."

"Until you die." He didn't bother trying the door; her brilliant eyes spoke no lies.

"True. But don't worry, I've got a while to live yet." Brown eyes flicked to windows, where the sun was beginning to set. "I've got one more sunset to see."

"I've got too many left." He found himself muttering.

She looked at him, breathed sharply and asked the question that had plagued her since his graduation. "I always wondered why you'd joined. Grant a dying woman and an old schoolmate a last request and tell me."

Grey eyes glanced to a bed where a brown bushy head rested in a bloody mockery of healing. "Gryffindors were always so good. The lot of them couldn't understand the shades of grey that existed in between. To you, there was Voldemort, and there was Harry."

A young girl trapped in a chamber with a basilisk and Tom blinked slowly.

"They couldn't. Could they?" He fixed a penetrating glance on her, asking her.

"No... No, they never did understand the shades between." Brown eyes were sad, but he continued.

"There was family, which was good, but also bad. How can family be evil when there was good because Mother loved? There was Death Eaters, which were bad. But how was joining so evil? It provided acceptance and power, and wealth and life and security for babies.

"How was Harry good when he trained people to kill? When he sacrificed one for the many? Wasn't that evil? And everyone turned a blind eye." Grey eyes were sharp and sorrowful.

"So I found a path that made suited me best. A path that ensured life and wealth and power." He shrugged elegantly and dismissed his guilt easily.

Ginny Weasley was trapped in a chamber with a boy who had a good smile and a bad heart. And liked it, but hated it. She knew shades of grey. "I picked the path that maybe promised a bit love without any evil."

"Were you right?"

"Were you?"

They shared a smile in the dimming light. There was no right or wrong. There was Ginny Weasley dying, and Draco Malfoy living. There was Harry Potter living, and Hermione Granger dying. There was Percy Weasley bringing valuable information to the Order, there was Ron Weasley dying with a silver mask and black robe on. There were children living to hate death eater scum. There was death eater scum dying and leaving good children.

She looked at Draco Malfoy as thoughts flew through her head.

Draco Malfoy watched this woman, child turned warrior turned healer, and knew that if life had played out a different hand this time around...

She echoed his sentiments with a small gasping laugh, brown eyes flashing, white teeth smiling. Red, red lips of blood grinning. "If only I had been a Ravenclaw. There would have been nothing stopping us. We would have taken Hogwarts by storm; the world would have been ours! We each could've picked a different path – it could have lead to happiness! "

He grinned wryly. "Maybe we would have picked the same one. Maybe I would've been evil, even if I'd still had you."

She smiled brightly, "But we would have picked it together, no matter which path it was! And that, Draco Malfoy, would have made all the difference!" She smiled brightly and drew a gasping breath. "The sun is setting. I'm moving on."

He smiled at last, and brushed grey knuckles across a soft grey cheek. "I'll see you next life."

"May the gods favour us then." She whispered softly and leaned into his hand. Brook brown eyes closed.

The wards around the infirmary finally began to crumble as he knelt before a woman he could have loved.

As he thought of what should have been and what could have been with the red headed woman, the black hem of his robe grew dusty grey in the debris.

AN: This is a oneshot written in response to a challenge given to me by the lovely Ellie101 (who's fanfiction is found on this site), who is an amazing author herself.

The challenge stated that the story had to include: A Sugar Quill, Draco insulting Ginny's hair when's he's actually admiring it, and the two of them trapped in a room.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, so review folks!