A/N: This is a songfic to "Cold" by Crossfade. Lyrics are in italics.
Midnight in Diagon Alley. A figure stepped out of the shadows of a narrow lane. It was hooded, the dark folds of fabric hiding every hint of identity. It glanced furtively from side to side before darting into the open. Its silent steps hugged the shop-fronts as it flitted down the street, ever-wary. It turned the corner, and stopped dead, all caution forgotten.
Looking back at me I see
That I never really got it right,
I never stopped to think of you.
With a strangled cry the figure surged forward, hood falling from his head, blonde hair glinting in the cold starlight. In the monochrome world of night only one thing stood out in colour. The pool of liquid fire on the cobbles, strands thrown carelessly across a pale face. There was no blood, no sign of a fight, save the mask of terror frozen on her young face. He extended a hand, gingerly reaching out to her, pale fingers stroking the hair back from her eyes.
Always wrapped up in things
I cannot win.
There was a scream nearby. He whipped around, wrenching the hood back up, but it was too late. His eyes locked with the brown ones that had screamed, wide and shocked, but overcome with rage.
"Get away from her!"
Hermione shrieked the command, wand flying to her fingertips.
He backed away from the figure hurriedly, hands held up, ready to plead, bargain, anything.
"No- please, you don't – wait-"
"Petrificus totallus!"
His frame went rigid, and slowly, so slowly, he fell back. His head hit the stone with a crack, and the scene swam before his eyes as he lay helpless. He imagined he could feel the stickiness of blood in his hair, and trying to look to the side he saw that he had no chance from the beginning. His sleeve had a slipped up, exposing the Dark Mark, vicious and angry against his white skin.
You are the antidote that gets me by,
Something strong like a drug
That gets me high.
The shadows were closing in on him now. He wished he could see her from here, but all he could see was the harsh night sky above him. He could hear Hermione, and he knew she was nearby, but the sound seemed muffled, as though it had travelled a great distance. What would happen to him now? He would die, he knew. He felt a momentary flash of anger that nobody would care. Not now. The death eaters had long since suspected his treason, and the so-called light side would be glad to be rid of him. They had never learned to listen to him. Always so untrusting, so biased. Only she was different.
He often suspected that he would have taken his own life long ago, if it hadn't been for her. In a world of his would-be assassins, she was the only one who gave him a chance. She listened, because she knew he had no reason to lie. It was the feeling she gave him, the small flicker of worth, that kept him alive. She hated him, he knew that. He had caused her more pain than all but the Dark Lord himself. But she, she alone, knew the truth when she saw it.
What I really meant to say
Is I'm sorry for the way I am,
I never meant to be so cold to you.
She had no feeling of heroism, no notions of grandeur. She alone realised that war was not honourable, and that it was a mistake to act as though it was or could be. Information was information, after all, no matter how repulsive the source.
What was happening to her now? He felt himself slipping from consciousness, but his last hazy thoughts were filled with her. Her hair. Her smell. Her voice. He had never told her. He couldn't. Every time they came face to face he saw the pain he had caused. He was not a good person, he knew that, but even he had his limits. He could never bring himself to make her suffer more than she already had. So he said nothing, remaining silent and aloof, behaving with the same spiteful venom that had laced his schooldays.
The world was just a blur now. He was leaving. For the last time, he saw before him that one stolen moment, just minutes ago. The feel of her soft hair, her cold skin beneath his fingertips. The only time he'd ever touched her. Darkness fell.
……………………………………………………………………………………………...
She blinked, the swirls of colour slowly swimming into focus. She saw a comfy room, lit by candles. Every fibre of her being screamed at her, screaming its pain until in reverberated hollowly through her skull, the echoes endless, infuriating.
"Where am I?"
A woman appeared above her.
"Oh lawks, you're awake!" The woman turned away. "Florean!"
"You're in the ice-cream parlour in Diagon Alley dear," she said gently. "You took an awful turn last night it seems. We found you on the street outside."
"Was there anyone with me?"
"A girl, maybe a little older than you. She was terrible panicky, poor love. She promised to be back soon, asked us to look after you."
She lay back, things slotting into place. Hermione would need to leave at once, tell the others. It would have been too dangerous to stay.
"And there was someone else."
Her eyes snapped open. The woman looked troubled.
"A young man…." She seemed to be talking to herself. "Very thin, very pale…. Dressed all in black like I don't know what…. It could be- no…."
She was alert now. "Did he see you? What did he say?"
Mrs. Fortescue regarded her sadly. "Nothing, dear. He was dead."
And I'm sorry about all the lies,
Maybe in a different light
You could see me stand on my own again.
When she awoke again, it was dark. She was alone. Her body seemed less painful now, but her mind felt numb, dull and distant.
Cautiously, she got to her feet. She took one step, then another. All in working order. She padded through the silent house to the front door.
"Alohamora," she whispered.
She stepped outside. The cold night air bit at her skin, making her shiver, but she would not turn back now. She stepped out into the middle of the street, looking around.
And then she saw him. He lay where he had lived, in the shadows. She ran to him, but stopped short before she reached him. There was no mistaking his identity now. His pale face was tranquil, his eyes closed as though sleeping. His slick blonde hair was streaked with red.
She closed her eyes, her breaths coming shakily. How had it come to this? It could have been so different. She could have changed it. But she didn't. She had feared and hated him. She dared not admit what she felt, even to herself. But now she could. Now it was over.
Cause now I can see
You were the antidote that got me by,
Something strong like a drug that got me high,
I never meant to be so cold.
She needed him. Opening her eyes again, she found she could observe him now with detachment. The emotion was suppressed, and solid thought came to the fore. She realised now that he was the only one who had seen her as she really was. He didn't see the brave heroine. He didn't see Harry Potter's loving girlfriend. He didn't see the tragic beauty that the papers loved to talk about. He saw her. He saw the pain, and the hatred, and the bitter acceptance of it all. He saw that she fought because she needed to, for herself, and no one else. He saw that all her nobility of character had been stripped away, leaving a vengeful shell behind.
He treated her for what she was. And she needed that. She couldn't stand the pity and patronising looks, everyone telling her how brave she was to keep going after all she'd been through. She needed the one person who could look her in the eye and tell her she had nothing left.
I never really wanted you to see
The screwed up side of me that I keep
Locked inside of me so deep,
It always seemed to get to me.
"What are you doing out here?"
She turned, and saw Hermione running towards her.
"You should be in bed! Why are you even outside?"
Hermione stopped then, catching sight of the body. Her eyes widened.
"It was so close," she whispered. "I found you just in time. When I came, you were out cold, and that- that thing was bending over you, touching your cheek. I put him under the body bind curse, and tried to get you away as quickly as I could. I don't know what could have killed him."
"Mmm," she was preoccupied. He had touched her, like a friend. Did he think her dead? What made him do it? He hated her, hated everything she knew and everything she stood for.
"Come on," Hermione was talking again. "Let's get you to Mungoes. Someone will take him away soon."
"I'll follow you in a second, Hermione," she said softly. Hermione nodded, and turned away.
Ginny bent down to the body. Her lips brushed the cold forehead, the ends of her hair mingling with his. She stood up swiftly, turning away.
I never really wanted you to go,
So many things you should have known.
A tear splashed onto the cobbles and she hurried away, hiding her face. Draco Malfoy lay still on the cold ground. At last, he could rest.
I guess for me there's just no hope
I never meant to be so cold.