Title: Desideration
Author: falling into you
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It is all JK Rowling's and various publishers'.
She didn't know how hard it was to leave him.
She wanted to hold him, to look into his eyes, to touch him, to kiss him. She remembered him leaning down to kiss her, his grey eyes dark and sensual as they stared into hers, and she inhaled sharply. The elderly gentleman sitting beside her looked at her strangely.
She grasped the magazine in her hand so tightly the pages crinkled. It was the loudest noise in the nearly empty train. Her coffee tilted precariously in her other hand, the hot liquid that she would never finish drinking nearly spilling unto her lap. The anticipation was overwhelming. The dread was suffocating.
She didn't know what was in store for her when she confidently stepped out of the taxi, her black high heels tap tap tapping on the pavement, looking up at the clouds rolling in, wishing it wouldn't rain.
In her young life, she had never seen anything so beautiful as him when she walked into the small coffee shop and spotted him reading a paper in the corner. Her eyes kept lingering on his white-blond hair, his kissable lips, his strong shoulders, his taut body.
He must have seen her glances. He must have seen her mumble out her order to the cheery waitress at the next table. He must have seen her cheeks redden in embarrassment as he looked up, and her brown eyes flick quickly down to her newspaper written in a language she couldn't possibly understand.
Her heart stilled and she nearly dropped her coffee cup when he approached her and pulled out a chair at her table, his snarky grin cool and confident as he sat down.
"I wasn't aware I asked you to join me, " she managed to say, trying to keep her eyes off his broad chest.
He smirked at her. "You didn't have to, " he said. He leaned forward and brushed a finger over her cheek, tugging on a strand of her fiery hair.
No one had talked to her like that before. No one had ever made her feel less comfortable, and yet, so comfortable at the same time. No one had ever made her gulp her coffee so that it scalded her tongue and she swallowed repeatedly to get the rough, burned taste out of her mouth. No one had ever made her heart beat twice as fast and her intakes of breath so slow.
Suddenly, she didn't who he was, who she was, who they were.
He was just a man, and she was just a woman.
She knew that they could never be together. She knew that it would end before it began. She knew that fate was against them.
And yet, all she could see were those dark grey eyes coming closer and all she could do was close her eyes, surrendering to him.
She didn't know how easy it was to forget.
"Did you find him?" The voice was sharp, clean, and clear.
She paused before deciding it was safe to say, "Yes."
"Interrogate him already?"
Pictures flashed before her eyes. The difficulty of readying herself for the task of finding, questioning, and trying the last of the Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall. The people she had questioned endlessly, blocking off any sympathy and empathy she had for those people, who had all ended up telling their stories through long, tortured breaths. The horror of what she had done coming to her, when she finally let herself feel, rising up in the back of her throat, while the pit of her stomach dropped endlessly.
The neverending guilt.
Yet she couldn't lie. "No." Her voice was small.
"You'll do it." It was not a question, nor was it a suggestion.
It was an order.
She didn't know how quickly she could fall in love.
They sat together in front of the cathedral, and she marveled at the perfect way they fit together. His lips moved against her hair. "What are you thinking about?" he murmured.
She tilted her face up slightly, brushing her nose with his aristocratic one, breathing in his sharp, spiky, masculine scent. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against him. He wrapped his hands around the curve of her small shoulders, a protective, possessive hold that meant more than it seemed.
Could she tell him?
He looked into her face, and she saw not the scrawny, annoying, whinny boy who teased her mercilessly at school, but a man. He looked like a man who has seen all that was evil, and now, he looked at her as if she was the most beautiful thing in the world. She had never seen him like this, open and somehow vulnerable. He had never let her.
She couldn't.
So she smiled up at him and told him what he wanted to hear.
She didn't know he could have ever made her feel so alive.
In his arms, she became a student again. She learned to see through his eyes at herself, to see the way he looked at her. She learned to see beautiful she was, instead of viewing herself as too small and curvy to be taken seriously. She learned to see herself as a woman, instead of as a sister or platonic friend.
He took her places where she had never been before. He taught her how to let herself go, to throw down the walls she hadn't realized she'd built. She had spent too long a time in the molds that other people made for her. She had never learned to break free.
Peace.
Acceptance.
Together.
Becoming.
In his own way, he had taught her love.
She didn't know how hard it would be to remember.
One unusually warm night, she had woken for no reason at all, and found herself curled up against him. It was so strange to wake up with someone else. She who had been the only girl in her large family, was never permitted to have such a relationship with a man.
It had taken her sleeping mind ages to wake up, to realize where she was and what it meant. It was a lagging of the conscious, and she dozed, half awake and half asleep.
You'll do it. You'll do it. You'll do it…
The words echoed in her mind. When had everything changed? When was it when she decided to defy her family, her friends, her life? When was the exact moment she had thrown everything aside for nothing, for everything? Was it the instant she stepped out of the taxi? Was it when he locked her eyes with his and touched her cheek? Or was it earlier? Was everything she'd done in her life solely for him?
His arm was around her. It seemed that there was always a part of him touching her. She would wake in the morning to find their legs entwined under the bedsheets, or an arm around her waist, or his cheek brushing hers.
Even in the depths of sleep, he protected her.
From what?
From myself.
She didn't know it would be the last time she would see him.
The summer passed, and autumn arrived. It was the season of change, of transition, of endings.
It had to end. It could never last. It was for both of them, she reassured herself.
She looked at him one more time as she left, trying to memorize his features and his expression, and she knew that the weight on her shoulders was not just from the bags she was carrying.
Before she knew it, she was back in England. She flew back by plane over the English Channel. Upon coming, she had gazed at the tiny houses and fields like a child, reminding herself that she was indeed thousands of kilometers above the earth.
On the way back, she realized she was floating above the earth in a man-made contraption of steel. It was dangerous, and she was foolhardy to even consider using such hazardous means of travel. She slept fitfully, and told herself it was simply due to the uncomfortable seats and recycled air.
But she couldn't shake off the feeling that she'd left part of herself back with him.
She didn't know she wore her heart on her sleeve.
It was always easy for her to hide her feelings and emotions. It had been part of her life, and now, it was part of her job. There was no way to stay sane without blocking her senses off. It was hard, but it what she was doing for the world was right. Someone had to track down the remaining Death Eaters and eliminate them. And she was part of that small elite.
But that was before she met him.
She had seen his regret, his sorrow, his redemption. She was his redemption.
Was it possible that others weren't beyond such salvation?
It had been ridiculously easy to lie to everyone. To tell them Draco Lucius Malfoy had gone into hiding. To tell them she did not have time to question him before he left. To tell them she had searched all summer to no avail.
She kept her face steady and emotionless as she spoke to Harry Potter, the lead Auror of her division. She did not smile, nor she did not frown. She carefully spoke the lies she had concocted on her way back, and no one was nonetheless wiser. They did not question her; they did not press her for more than she gave.
That's what she thought.
After she left, Harry sat back in his chair and watched the small figure retreating down the hallway. The emptiness in her eyes was startling, and he had known at once that she was hiding something.
He crossed the room and retrieved a roll of parchment. He scribbled a note.
Subject is Draco Lucius Malfoy, Malfoy heir and ex-Death Eater. Last suspected location was Paris, France. Ginevra Molly Weasley found subject, but did not get a chance to interrogate him before he ran. Confirm her report.
The only thing now was to figure out what.
She didn't know she could feel so incomplete.
People noticed. Mothers on the street would press their children tighter against themselves. Men, who had once looked twice at the stunning redhead, barely glanced at her. Her coworkers remarked on her fragileness. Her friends whispered in hushed tones about her pasty skin and hollow cheekbones.
She is like a walking corpse, they said behind her back. Her eyes are too large in her small face, her clothes too loose on her small frame. She doesn't concentrate, they noticed, she doesn't work.
She would take long walks in the middle of the night. As she peeked around corners and walked down alleys, her heart would leap when she saw a flash of blond hair, a pair of luminous grey eyes.
But it was never him.
It was always something else, the reflection of a street lamp on the wet ground, a cat, or a shadow.
She would not look in a mirror. It was too painful. She ignored her mother's scoldings and brothers' pleas. She did not eat, nor did she sleep. How could she had ever felt sleeping in bed with another person was strange? It had only been a week, but she could not imagine sleeping without him.
When she did sleep, she slept lightly and fitfully. Tossing and turning, she would become entangled hopelessly in the bedsheets, feeling helpless and bound. More often than not, she would wake up to find herself with sweat on her brow.
Falling into swirling pools of color and memories and premonitions.
She felt his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest, whispering in her ear. "We'll be alright, " he murmured. "Everything will work out."
"How do you know?" she whispered to him, burying her face in his neck.
"I just do, Ginevra."
A rush of emotion swept over her, until she looked up into his face. A cold shudder wracked her body and he held her tighter, pressing his forehead against hers.
Before she could fully read and comprehend his expression, he was gone. A bone deep coldness filled the space in her arms where he once was.
A candle flickered in the darkness. It seemed lonely, the sole light in all the darkness. Voices echoed.
"Why did you do it, Gin?"
Why…why…why…
"No! Please." She ran down empty corridors and opened doors, trying to find him. "He didn't do anything wrong!'
Her sense of foreboding increased as she neared the last door. Upon reaching the door, she curled her small hand around the doorknob. She tugged.
It didn't open.
She banged her fists on the door, pleading for someone, anyone, to hear her.
Nothing.
She stayed at the door, finally sinking down in defeat, clutching her torn and bloody hands to her chest, rocking back and forth in a chilling, eerie wind. When it finally opened, she stood up on shaky legs, her eyes wide as she tottered forward.
It couldn't be.
No, she thought, no
And that was when she decided to go back.
She didn't know how simple it was to return.
That very morning, without telling her family or friends, she packed a small bag, and stepped out of her flat as the sun rose.
This time, she took the train from London, took a taxi through the Chunnel, and a train back to Paris. Once in France, she stared out at the scenery, wondering at how it could look that much brighter. The greenery was that much greener, the sky that much bluer, the clouds that much fluffier.
As the hours passed, she tried to do anything to keep him off her mind. But she couldn't stop thinking about him. About his voice, his face, his kisses. About her dream.
The mix of emotions continued to churn inside of her.
She was going to see him again.
She didn't know that she would never be his again.
The sky that had seemed so blue turned a dreary, hard gray, only several shades darker than when she first arrived in Paris all those months ago.
It was a lifetime ago.
She stepped out of the taxi, not with the confidence of her last visit, but of a woman possessed to know the truth. The fluttering she felt inside had only increased as she neared the city, and now she could barely breathe. Whether it was out of excitement or fear, she did not know.
She looked up at the building and took a deep breath. Holding her bag in one hand, she pulled open the door hesitantly, as though she expected it to resist. She still couldn't forget her dream. It haunted her.
Her breathing evened as she neared their flat. Their? She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Yes, it was theirs.
She fumbled in her pocket for the key, putting it in the keyhole, only to find that the door wasn't locked. Irrationally, fear took over. She pushed the door open, her eyes growing wider as they swept over the room.
At first, it seemed normal, but as she dropped her bag and walked through the flat, she knew that something had happened. There was no sign of a fight, but it was too quiet.
She tried to ignore the empty mantleplace, the stale smell of the air, and the tightly closed blinds. She held her breath as she reached the bedroom. If she had been clear-headed, she would have noticed the slightly cracked wall and the tiny rust colored droplets dotting the floor beside her footsteps.
Instead, her eyes were drawn to the box on top of the unmade bed. Biting her lip, she sat herself down beside it, and reached inside.
Clothes.
Pictures.
Two rings.
She pulled dozens of items out, one after another. She recognized some of them, running her hands over the familiar objects. Tears threatened to spill over. She reached blindly into the box, and grasped a roll of parchment. Blinking rapidly, she unrolled the paper and began to read.
Ginevra,
I have a confession to make. I don't know how or when you will get this letter, but I'm writing it all the same. I don't even know when we will see each other again.
I have known for some time about what you do. At first, I felt anger because you never told me, and I felt betrayed. I know you thought it was all for the best. And now, tonight, you are going to leave. Even though you have meticulously hidden your suitcase away, I can see it in the way you look at me, the way you touch me, the way you beg me to kiss you again and again.
I write this as you sleep, wanting to savor this moment forever. If things could only stay this way forever. I want to watch as you breathe, your eyelashes flutter, the way you rub your cheek against mine. I am going to pretend to be asleep as you rise as quietly as you can and leave.
I cannot stop you. There was once a time when I would. But things change.
I was empty when I met you. Forever hiding, forever regretting everything I've done, forever wishing I could forgive myself. And yet, I could not admit to myself my weaknesses. I thought that I was strong, and now, I realize that I was wrong.
I wish you would wake me when you leave. Wake me from this dream, so I know that I was not a dream at all. Tell me what it means to be with me, and promise me you'll never let us go.
I love you.
Draco
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she read. She reached out and grabbed handfuls of his clothing, pressing it against her, smelling his familiar smell, wishing it were a joke, wishing she could turn around and he would be standing in the doorway, smirking at her.
It was her fault.
She remembered her dream vividly. She remembered his expression. Her heart sank further as she realized what it was.
Resignation.
She was sure he had never worn that look before, as a child, adolescent, or adult. Despite the odds, he never gave up. She shuddered at the thought of how angry he must have been, contrasting it with the sad, wistful tone in his letter to her.
I betrayed him, she thought over and over. I killed him. He loved me and I threw it all away.
She once thought that she was his redemption. But he was hers. It had begun to rain, and here she was, without him. She didn't know when she fell asleep from exhaustion, curled up among his clothes.
He saw her first. She did not care where she was, as long as he was there with her. He was so real as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her deeply. After a few moments, he gently untangled himself from her, turned around, and started walking in the opposite direction. She found that she couldn't follow him. Her feet were rooted to the ground.
She could only watch as he walked away from her.
Smaller and smaller.
Then he was gone.
Author's Notes: Still, it's not the best thing I've EVER EVER written, so check out my other story (soon to be stories :) at my fanfiction account. I know this story is VERY ambiguous, and I'm sorry if you were terribly confused. It's my first time writing angst like this, and not only is it preparation for my story Fields of Gold but it also sort of built off of another story I was planning to write before I switched to Moonlight Sonata, Leaving Paris.
This story was inspired by Dido's beautiful, beautiful song, "Paris". If you can, download it. You will see parallels between this story and the song. I would also like to think that there are minute little details that readers may miss, so read carefully :D Also take note of the foreshadowing, because I'm a symbolism/foreshadoing/metaphor/quote junkie like that, and I would like people to see if they could tell what was going to happen before it actually did.
And yes, Draco did die, he's not going to come back. There were numerous ways to end this one-shot, and one of them was to have Harry behind an Invisibility Cloak and watch Ginny as she found out about Draco. But it seemed too intruding on the whole Draco/Ginny moment there, even though Draco was gone.
There are also lyrics, albiet edited, from Josh Groban's "My Confession" and Il Divo's "Everytime I Look at You", both of which are equally beautiful songs with very talented men :D
Tell me what you think!
hugs and kisses,
falling into you