Exquisite Illusion

Summary: 'Everyday she would remember the exquisite illusion she found waiting for her in that jail cell when she said goodbye to only man she had truly ever loved.' One-shot

Disclaimer: I own nothing though I would love to own Cedric…

She waited. Pale eyes darted around waiting for his arrival. She knew he would come, and come he did. When he first entered into her panicked vision she nearly gasped. Her breath caught. This man was handsome- the most handsome she had ever seen. Tall and able-bodied with the stealthy grace of a cat, he strode into view with the dignity of confidence. He was almost too handsome for masculinity. His head was held high, and the ghost of a self-assured smirk rested upon pale pink lips. They twitched ever so slightly when his eyes rested on her.

She wanted to gasp in rage. 'How dare he mock me!' she thought bitterly, pulling herself up to her full height. Yet she barely brushed the height of his nose. His pale, elegantly refined nose. She glared at him, daring him to look her straight in the eyes. She regretted it the moment she found herself lost in pools of molten silver. She saw a bit of laughter dancing, and a brief flicker of hate. And deep in the back, shadowed by simple emotions, there was a bit of trust, and a tiny bit of admiration, a single swirl of hope, and a glimmer of love. She wretched her eyes away from his and looked to the ceiling, praying to whatever deity could help her live through this disastrous encounter.

He said something. She did not hear the words but she heard the voice, a blend of confidence, and business and mockery. It was the true voice of an aristocrat; filled with a sneer that was shadowed by a sickly-sweet politeness that none could call out as fake. She heard laughter, cold and cruel, ring in her ears. It was in the undertone of his words, a melody sweet yet overwhelmingly harsh. Her anger flared once more. She brought her gaze back down to the pale skin of the man's face. His features were exquisite and refined, superior to the plain ones decorating her face. This man was superior to her in every way and he would let her know it in his condescending glance.

She bit her lips, kneading it softly in worry. Even the way his hair fell, in soft, light strands was untouchable compared to the mane of fiery locks she had resting upon her shoulders. And the way his lip moved to form his mocking words bested the ungraceful attempts she made with her fierce retorts. She should be kneeling at his feet, kissing the polished shoes he wore. Her vision began to swim as he approached her behind the iron bars that no magic could break. His every step screamed of an aloof grace that she could only dream of ever achieving. His robes swam at his feet, swirling in an elaborate dance, never touching the floor. Suddenly she felt like a maid in her plain robes of black, spots of dirt on the hem and a small tear in the left sleeve. He looked like a king, dressed in spotless black robes, with accents of silver. The pristine condition of them made them dance with darkness.

He spit out cold words, and she bowed her head. He had every right to act like a king. In her eyes he was one, though cold and cruel. She was just a peasant and no match for his flawed beauty.

And then, out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach for the metal bar. Her world spun and faded in and out before settling. She was the peasant no longer, with blazing hair filled with twigs and dirt smudged on her nose. She drew herself up, relieving her back of the ache in slumping. She tilted her chin up, defiance glittering in her eyes, the color of a peaceful day with out clouds. She was the one would ruled here. He would not defeat her in her own jail. A smile of pure hate found its way onto her lips as she stared down at this man, the peasant, as she was the Queen.

Her smile was harsh, as she looked upon the ragged man in front of her, now seeming as helpless as a young boy. His hair, platinum streaked with dirt, lay in pale strings around a face smudged in soot and marred by scratches. His eyes were no longer beautiful. They were silent pools of frozen silver, tainted with hatred. His robes were black, spotted with dirt and dust and ripped and torn. She was the one in the magnificent black robes with the accent of gold.

It was an elaborate illusion this man could cast and she near gave in. But she had seen him for what he truly was and she defeated him. He was a murderer, ChaosWielder, BlightBringer. He was the one who ruined her world. She looked down at his flawed face, which once she might have found beautiful, with contempt. One last stream of harsh words flew from her mouth, her tongue biting into him, gloating in his defeat. It was his turn to bow his head and as he did she turned.

And yet she made near to steps before his voice reached her ears. Something cold and dirty held on to her and she glanced down to see a pale hand firm on her wrist. She tried to pull herself free but he would not release her from his iron grip. She turned her head slightly and once again found molten pools of silver. She gasped and shivered and let her mind draw herself into the shadows of memories. She remembered their desperation and their need. She remembered the soft kisses on every freckle of her face and the way her ginger hair fell lose from whatever had kept it from her face. She remembered the night of the indulgence of two enemies, and the passion they had shared. Their frozen passion now lost within the very fabric of time itself. She almost cried out in anguish for the love she felt and the loss it brought. Long after the memories washed over her she stayed motionless on that spot on the floor.

He released her and she hurried quickly to the door. And then his voice, tired and pained, rung out once more.

"This is it then?" It was rhetorical. This was indeed the end. She turned and glanced back at the man who had stolen her heart. Her lips were graced with the shadow of the smile, cold, sorry and heartbroken. He was to reside behind iron bars until the day he died, which she knew would be before she saw him again. Yes, indeed it was the end. He would die of crimes he committed and yet the only crime she knew he committed was in the theft of her heart. People would whisper of a scandal within the world of law and some would whisper or star-crossed lovers. None would ever know the full truth behind the love and passion of two enemies.

"So it is." She resumed walking and reached the door. He was allowed one last glimpse of her face before the door swung shut. "Goodbye Draco." The stonewall was the only one to hear her lament and so she swiveled on her heel and briskly left the place where death so palpably hung.

"Goodbye Gin." He whispered long after she was gone. And it was goodbye. He would die three days later, executed under the sentence of being a known deatheater and of the murder of Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Gabrielle Delacour. Many would attend the execution but none would cry. And only Ginny Weasley would visit the grave of Draco Malfoy, placing a single white rose everyday. And everyday she would remember the exquisite illusion she found waiting for her in that jail cell when she said goodbye to only man she had truly ever loved.

Wow. Ginny and Draco. Not my favorite pair but I had to try my hand at it. I enjoyed writing this though and hope you enjoyed reading it. Please review, as it means a lot to me.

Speaking of reviewing, thanks to any and everyone who has reviewed any of my stories. It means the absolute world to me and everytime I read a review I get that warm fuzzy feeling. I love you all (and I love all of you who read without reviewing too).

Thanks,

-Frozen-Passion-