Echoes
Disclaimer: I do not -- i repeat, DO NOT -- own the Harry Potter books and i am not conected with JKR or anyone affiliated with the Harry Potter books. I'm starting to discover the meaning of the saying "Life's a biatch and then you die!" lol.
Rating: G
Summary: Ginny watches and dreams. Draco talks to himself . But it all ends up alright. Ginny's POV.
I watch him. Everyday, whenever I get the chance. When I'm walking down the hall and I see him coming towards me, my heart stops, completely freezes in my chest.
He hardly ever says anything. Or at least not the things I want him to say. Sometimes he does stop and look at me, his eyes opening for a second, allowing me to look deep inside his soul; past the ice cold mask he shows the world. But then the moment fades and his eyes grow hard again. He sneers at me, his voice loud and mocking, "What're you looking at, Weaslette? Admiring what you're not good enough to have?"
I never reply. It's impossible for me to even form the words in my throat. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. At least not what I want to come out. "Why do you talk so high and mighty," I want to say, "when I know that you're just as afraid as I am. Afraid to trust, to show compassion … to love?" I want to see him pale in realization as my words hit deeply home and I want him to take me in his arms and tell me he doesn't want to be afraid anymore. Tell me that he wants to learn to show warmth, just as I do. Tell me that he loves me.
But I never tell him and he never does. The truth is that I am the one who's afraid. I'm afraid of rejection. Afraid of finding out that the one man that I will ever love doesn't feel the same way about me. But even more than that, I'm afraid that he does.
So I resign myself to watching. Everyday, whenever I can. I know him now. I've memorise his features. The regal curve of his chin, the sweeping arc of his nose, the glittering crystal in his pale, grey eyes and the graceful fall of his silver-white hair. I know his voice, loud and mocking when he wants it to be, but sometimes it's deep and timeless as well.
When he's alone he speaks to himself. Not about anything important, but his voice reveals more than his words. It whispers to me of a million secrets yet to be discovered, some buried so deeply inside of him they may never come out. It murmurs the heartache of a hundred betrayals. And it tells me the pressure put on him by his father, a weight so heavy that it's all he can do not to crumble underneath it.
And more importantly than all the rest, it speaks to me of love. The love he feels for a girl he barely knows. It tells me how her fire warmed him and melted his icy heart. How her spirit gave him strength and her faith brought him hope. And it tells me how she won his heart so suddenly and completely, by simply being herself.
That girl is me.
For so long I didn't know it.
Neither did he.
But now we do.