Don't Own Nothing but then I would be owning everything…Muhahahahahah…just kidding…

But do own anything you don't recognizes…

December, 2008

She was gone.

Finally, after 3 years of hell and heaven, she was gone. It finally wore her down. The nagging, the insults, the doubt, and finally, the absence of those three little words. She left, leaving him a shell, a shell that held the unreachable soul of one of the War's greatest hero. No one could break that shell, no one, expect for her.

She had loved and lost, lusted for and been lusted after, she had said those words and had not heard them back. Ginevra Weasley had on December 24, 2008, said goodbye to all the pain, all the burden, all the laughs, all the arrogance, and finally all the heart-breaking truth. She finally said goodbye to Draco Malfoy. It wasn't a goodbye filled with tears or cries of desperation, it instead was filled with the question why spoken without an answer and then a cold look that masked…masked what? She still couldn't figure out, regret, hopelessness, gladness, or maybe a combination of all three?

It took her 2 years to get an answer.

He still remembers.

He remember her red, curly hair, her mahogany brown eyes, her pert little nose, her dark, long eyelashes invoking strokes of shadows her equally dark eyes. Her lips, God, he remembered her lips. Full, with the color of the pinkest rose, just as soft, just as delicate. Her dark eyes, flashing when she was angry, her flaming hair in impossible curly, red waves, like fire.

Damn it! She was fire, never to be caught, no matter how hard he tried, never to cool, but by God, she was his fire. She wasn't conventionally pretty. No, no, she wasn't like your Lavender Brown, with her blond beauty, or Hermione Granger with her cleverness and her neat, brunette beauty. She wasn't even like Pansy with her by the rules features.

Ginny Weasley, freckled, red, curly haired, brown eyes that was anything but dull. He remembered once looking at Potter looking at Ginny and seeing the stupid git's expression soften with a hopelessly gone look in his eyes. He read somewhere (probably in one of his mum's rules of love books, that story will come later, much, much later) that girls may love easier but when a wizard falls for a witch, they fall hard. And Draco Malfoy, no matter who he is or how much money he may have or even how handsome and charming he is, fall just as hard.

That was in his sixth year.

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