Chapter 6:

It was funny how a sentence that took two seconds to utter could haunt its listener for ages longer. Draco had left as soon as he had his word, but his word had not left as smoothly as him. Ginny was left with them, in her empty cell thinking of what he said.

Congratulations Ginny, everyone you know and love, even your dear Potter, is evil.

He was right, how could she judge him for doing the same thing the people she loved and respected did? How could she look down on him when she had been such a coward? For the first time Ginny realised that she had abandoned her parents, her friends, her fellow wizards – she had left them all because she thought she couldn't cope. Draco was right to hold such animosity towards her, she didn't deserve pity like she requested when she did nothing to help the future of the wizarding world.

She was woken up the next morning by Draco's gentle shaking. "Weasley," he whispered in her ear sending goose bumps down her neck, "Weasley get up." She opened her eyes to see his face inches above hers, observing her intently. He frowned forming creases on his forehead; his eyes glistened with worry, his lips turned down in unpleasantness. She had seen this look before, but never on Draco. It was a look of pity.

Frightened she moved quickly to the wall and hugged her knees to her chest. Was this it? Was this where he came to collect her, to take her to You-know-Who so she could be sacrificed? "What's wrong? What happened?"

Draco seemed to try to compose himself and took a moment to decide the right approach. "Calm down," he firmly said.

"What happened?"

"Calm down, Weasley."

"Please," she begged her voice a mere whisper, "Please Draco, tell me."

He diverted his eyes from her gaze and his took a deep breath.

"Are you going to – are you going to… kill me?"

"No," he looked as if he wanted to comfort her and for a moment he inched towards her before stopping himself. He cleared his throat, "No, it's nothing like that."

"Draco, please just tell me."

But she didn't know how hard it was. There was no way to just tell her. He could tell that his news would almost cripple her with grief, that she would nearly go insane when she heard it. And it was his responsibility to hurt her in that way, it was his to figure out a way to deliver news that he knew would be nothing less of heartbreaking.

"It's your brother – Ron."

His sentence needed no completion, before he had even finished it Ginny had let out a wail of grief and though her hand instinctively went to her mouth to silence it, she could not.

Draco knew that there was no turning back and taking a deep breath he finished his sentence, not able to look her in the eye, "He's dead."

She shook violently and could hardly breathe for crying. Draco could almost hear her heart breaking. She rocked back and forth engulfed by her grief. He held out a hand to comfort her, but she screamed "NO! WHO DID IT? WHO DID IT?"

Draco didn't reply, instead he pulled her forcefully towards him and despite her resistance held her in a comforting embrace. Eventually she calmed enough to accept, resting her head on his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt, her sobbing long and deep. Draco stroked her hair trying to think of something to say. 'It's okay' seemed insincere when they both knew that it wouldn't. 'It will get better' – how could he promise that when he wasn't sure it would get better even for him? Instead, he sat there in silence doing the best he could to comfort her while images of Ron from the previous night ran through his head. The Weasley's shock as he saw Draco's face as his hood fell in battle, his pleading eyes as he fell, and the look of terror as Draco stood above him muttering the crutatius curse. And lastly, his limp body, cold and lifeless lying on the stone cold hard floor.

XX

It took her almost an hour to fall asleep. Her wails had transformed to silent sobbing, her stomach jerking violently as she took sharp, deep intakes of breath. Still he held her until he could feel the tender movement of her sleeping breath and he lay her gently on her bed. He looked at her, her face red from the heat of grief, wet with the aftermath of tears and for the first time Draco was ashamed. He was ashamed of what he had done to her. Many a time had he killed in the name of the Dark Lord but never had he seen what effect he had on those who knew his victim. And when he held her while she shook violently he thought of what it would be to be in her shoes, what it would be like to find out that his mother had been killed by someone in the order, to know that he could not be there to see her face one last time, to know that he could do nothing about it but grieve and that all his pain and sobbing could not bring her back, to know that in her last moments when she probably wanted – no needed to see him - to let her know the things he never let her know, to say all the things he never had said, that he was nowhere to be found. And he was ashamed. Draco was ashamed of what he had done. Gently he touched her hair and muttered a quiet but earnest sorry before leaving. He had no choice. That was the truth, but somehow that didn't give him any reassurance, in fact that made him feel even worse because he too, like her, was helpless.

He came back that night, under the Dark Lord's orders but more from his impulse to watch over her that night as she slept, afraid that she might do something to harm herself. Frequently she awoke with a start from a dream but she said nothing, only gazing distantly into the air, deep in thought. Frequently she muttered his name in her sleep, 'Ron?' as if hoping that he would appear, in human or spirit form Draco did not know, but she would never get an answer.

Draco merely looked on, wishing he could comfort her in some way but knowing that he was on the opposite side to her, and knowing that tomorrow he would have to go out and kill more – maybe her distant cousins, maybe her friends, maybe old schoolmates – or be killed. He had made his choice years ago when he pledged his allegiance to the Dark Lord and there was no turning back. With every life he took he knew that he was hurting someone, but hurting strangers was easier when he knew he was protecting his family.

XX