Sunsets

Ginny didn't know what she had expected when Draco had kneeled down next to her. All of a sudden she had been surrounded by his scent, a scent so intoxicating she was rendered helpless...even as soft skin brushed against hers and hands came to rest against her knees and thighs in preparation for something strange and magical, all at the same time, she could do absolutely nothing. All she'd been able to detect were his warm, carressing eyes, pulling her further and further into him...eyes so filled with confusion, yet a certain confidence of action.

He hovered closer, and she wanted to faint as the metal of his eyes revealed their softer amber flecks, as if with his mood his eyes had yielded to tenderness. God, she wanted him in a way she didn't know was possible. In a way that she knew he was so far out of her league, but in a way that she had to have him. He was hers, on some predetermined level, and somehow this year it all seemed to have unravelled.

She didn't know what events had lead up to this strange union, and she hadn't even had a chance to further ponder her circumstances when his gentle thumbs whiped away her tears--tears she found she had already forgotten. Everything seemed to spin, and she found she could no longer look at him...she looked down and away, her eyes studying wringing hands before he...lovingly directed her chin upwards, peering at her with a slight frown, and a look of need so complete her breathe seemed to stall in her throat, and she thought she was choking in awe.

She blinked only once, and in the span of that second his lips were on hers and his fluttering eyelashes tightly shut. It was sudden and carressing, chaste but so naughty, sending tendrils of crackling electricity racing in her blood. Her hairs stood up at its abruptness, how such a mere touch seemed to hold every form of closeness she could ever want with another person. His hands slipped around to her hair, pulling her closer to his chest and tickling her bare shoulder--her hands, tiny and hesitant, slid over his chest, relishing the smoothness and puzzling over the ocassional, unseen bumps.

It was like a whole different world, and she felt so lost; but that didn't matter, because she knew they were lost together. He paused, pulling away, and she ached at the loss, desperate hands hooking behind his back to pull him closer and in for another. This time he teased her, lightly and with the knowledge of experience backing him. His tongue traced her bottom lip, his hands drawing small circles over her back with feather-light fingertips. He almost choked when one of her legs slipped off the couch and around his available hip, eagerly bidding him closer, and it was possibly the feeling of having gone too far that made him pull away, despite her unvoiced protest.

Ginny stared at him, puzzled and a bit ashamed at her newfound liking for kissing. This had by no means been her first kiss--she was quite pretty, as she had been assured, and numerous fumbling boyfriends had pressed their lips to hers in experimental oppurtune--no, Draco Malfoy had not been her first kiss, but he had by far been her best.

She blushed slightly, breathing a bit hard.

He smiled that lop-sided and ever so suited smile, making her melt all over again. Then, he brushed back his hair, revealing the small cut at his hairline, and held his painfully marred hands towards her. "Heal all you want, Weasley," he told her softly, and with such genuine tenderness she had to blush even more and chance a shy smile.

Taking a deep breath, she summoned her wand, pushing him back so she could concentrate, her previous anger and discontent forgotten. She took a few moments to gather her wits, eying him speculatively in the comfortable silence that ensued. Finally, and with a inner pang that stung worse than any before, she came face to face with the indentities of the bumps her fingers had previously discovered. She didn't say anything, but her lower lip trembled and she knew that Draco had probably noticed the beck of her gaze.

"See?" he hummed quietly, almost jokingly, "This is what happens when you're not there to heal everything for me." She looked at him, a deep sort of sadness settling in her stomach as all the scars across his torso and shoulders came into clear perspective. They were small, usually an inch or two in legnth, and not noticeable unless you looked closely--from where Ginny was, she could see them vividly.

"How does this happen?" she asked, her voice none as demanding as it had been before, "Why..?" Her voice caught, stricken with tears once more for reasons unbeknownst to her.

He was reluctant to speak, his eyes laden with internal distress. "I..." he gazed at her, his eyes meaningful, "I can't tell you."

Ginny didn't say a thing, because for some reason she understood, this time. There were somethings, some injustices, that could not be spoken. Maybe, if they could, he would tell her--then again, he mightn't have, but the knowledge that whatever torture he had been through was unspeakable seemed to settle in her stomach a restless peace that was, nonetheless, a type of peace. Besides, it was enough for him to have exposed himself to her in such a way that he had--she didn't even want to think about how difficult it probably was for him to be seen like this, seen weak and incapable.

Slowly, she traced a finger along a particularly jagged scar, her muse another one of those things that could not be said. He shivered beneath her touch, and she smiled slightly. "It's okay," she murmured, sighing. She closed her eyes for a moment, then shoved him away playfully. "Okay Malfoy, enough of this sentimental bullocks. Time to get down to work." He smiled again, and she grinned, trying to hide her inner turmoil, if not for her sake, then his. "Sit!" she order, rising from her perch and pushing him into his, trying to ignore the literal sparks that flew every time she touched him, "Time for the doctor to go to work!"

Draco sat very still as she leaned over her, greedily breathing in her strawberry and vanilla scent, and watching her intently as she first healed his forehead, then both his hands. He appreciated her reaction to his scars, admired her strength for having put on the 'happy act' to show him it did not bother her. He knew it did, however, he had seen the tremor in her body, felt her distress when she'd seen the scars. He'd heard the concern in her voice, the care and sadness. She couldn't hide it from him. He didn't know if she would ever be able to hide anything from him again.

Fervently, he hoped it wasn't likewise.

Draco liked his secrets, but Ginny Weasley was making it very hard to keep them. First, with that chemically charged kiss that seemed to hold so much more meaning than any other he had ever had, and now with all of this...care. 'What a sorceress,' he thought, feeling the embers of happiness and that deep and hollow-pitted abyss of having all the pieces of the puzzle placed together contentedness dig its way into his stomach and fill him up. She was so perfect, and so beautiful, and this feeling was so new and lovely...He didn't know what it was, but it was enjoyable and puzzling at the very same time.

She finished with a flourish and smile, "There you are Malfoy," she said, "All done."

He inspected both his hands, scrunching up his nose in mock distaste, before running a finger along his hairline to check the hail-caused wound. "Not bad, for a Weasley," he said, trying to keep his voice both joking and contemptuous, "Not very bad at all."

She looked at him in mock disbelief, "Like you could do any better!"

"You know I could," he said arrogantly, suppressing at smile at her outrage and his obvious lie.

"With your snobby Malfoy ass the only thing you could do better is grovel in the drain with an alcohol level higher than your blood pressure," she retorted hotly, before checking the time on the alarm clock. "The time's passed...it's almost ten."

Draco yawned, stifling it with his hand. "So?"

With a mischevious grin, Ginny bounced from her current location and onto the bed, the springs creaking as it rebounded her weight, sending her flying a few inches before landing back on the pillow. "Pillow talk!" she said, laughing slightly.

He gave her a puzzled look stiffly offering a disbelieving: "You're kidding."

"I am," haphazardly, she peeled the cover-blanket and two pillows off the bed, throwing them on the floor nearby. "There are your sleeping quarters, Mr. Malfoy," she said, before flopping back onto the bed and settling with her arms behind her head, "Good night."

He stared at the mess of jumbled sheets on the floor, approaching them distastefully. "Draco Malfoy, reduced to sleeping on the floor while a Weasley--girl, nonethless--snuggles into the very sizeable bed," he said, amused at himself as she burst into peels of laughter. Generally, and with any one else, Draco would have felt very awkward indeed. Joking about simply wasn't in his nature--but now, with Ginny Weasley, it came almost naturally. The sound of her giggling and laughter satisfied him, somehow; it was such a pretty sound, and knowing that he had caused it seemed, to him, to be an accomplishment.

He sighed softly, and twisted his mouth to one side as she watched him from amidst her throne of pillows. "I think I saw more sheets and stuff in the closet," she stated, matter-of-factly, and he sneered stubbornly as he began to lay out the coverlet on the floor in the form of a makeshift bed. When all was smooth and wrinkle-less, he placed both pillows--after a considerable amount of punching and prepping--at the top. "Some one's a perfectionist," she commented again, almost taunting him with her obvious comfort, "And won't you be cold tonight?"

"Of course not," he said, determinedly, "I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys don't feel cold."

She almost choked on her laughter, and he couldn't help but smile himself. "Of all the things you've said tonight, that is by far the stupidest."

He cocked an eyebrow at her, before kneeling down to lay atop his masterpiece. He could only see the edge of the bed now, and he heard it creak as she moved over to a position where she could see him. He looked up, the light making his eyes fuzzy, as she came into view; red hair tumbling down the side of the bed and blue eyes twinkling childishly. "You look very comfortable down there," she said, still grinning madly. Draco made a point of placing his hands behind his head and crossing his legs leisurely. She giggled again, "Very...majestic."

He rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep Weasley," he said as she stuck her tongue out at him, "I sure as hell don't feel like hearing your endless chatter all night."

She laughed, and his mouth, despite his mental requests for otherwise, shimmied itself into a smile. Somehow, everything he said tonight seemed to be light-weight, as if he were on cloud nine without any effort or endorsement. Abruptly she took his statement to heart, still smiling she disappeared from his view, and he found himself almost wishing she hadn't. He heard her retreat to the other side of the bed and shift around a little, obviously pulling the blankets over her and settling her pillows the way she liked it.

When they were both fairly comfortable, the lights--charmed, naturally--turned off, sending them both into a moonlight and lightening-lit reality. There was silence that hung about in the air, cloaking them in the auras of sleep and awaiting it to envelope--the only sound, the thunder, rain and hail, that was so expected it became part of the silence.

Then, Ginny, on a whim, decided to break it. "So Malfoy, why were you drinking today in the first place?"

Her question caught him off guard, and he struggled to find a sensible answer that wouldn't give anything away--somehow, he felt that if he told her the real reason, she would find him fickle, and today Ginny Weasley's impressions of him seemed to matter a great deal more than normal. "Leisure," he lied, hoping he sounded convincing.

He heard her shift. "You were pretty hammered...for some reason I don't think people get that drunk for leisure."

She knew. How did she know? He turned over on his makeshift bed. What should he tell her? The truth? He sighed; for some reason, he knew she would accept nothing but the truth. "You really want to know?"

He could feel her think about it, feel her contemplate losing this trust he had so heavily bestowed upon her. "Would it hurt you to tell me?"

That was a good question, one that he answered himself. "Only if you further inquired on the subject."

"I won't, promise."

Her small promise seemed to make his heart flutter wildly, though he couldn't fathom why. Maybe it was the feeling that she so respected his privacy? Maybe it was the feeling that told him she cared. He didn't know, and it didn't matter. "Well...my father owled me." The words hung in the air uncomfortably, and Draco tried not to think about what that would mean.

"Oh," she said simply, and he found himself grateful for the simplicity of her reply.

It was quiet for a moment, then she asked again, "That day in the library...why did you do that?"

He sighed, hard this time, guilt once again in his throat. It wasn't like him, but the very thought of the tears in her eyes back then seemed far more than enough for him ask, "Have you forgiven me?"

"Of course," she answered, immediately, "I couldn't hold a grudge for that long..." she hesitated, "at least, not against you."

His stomach did somersaults, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "I didn't mean to say it, honestly. It just came out," he attempted, riled on by her previous declaration, "You made me remember something...something I didn't want to remember." It was the truth, or as close as the truth could get, he figured. He wasn't ready to tell her about his mother...he didn't know if he'd ever be ready. The woman he'd loved for so long, who had tried, though feebly and with her own tribulations, to protect him despite her concreted nature. Draco closed her eyes trying not to think about it--

Suddenly, Ginny laughed, and he felt the trail of tense-ness that had gathered in the air disappear. "Is this the equivalent of pillow talk?"

He couldn't help but laugh, too, and when he did she stopped abruptly. "Is something wrong?" he asked, trying not to show his frantic concern that he had misjudged the situation and offended her.

"No..." she said, and her voice sounded almost dreamy, "That's just the first time I've ever heard you laugh."

It was true; this was the first time she had ever heard Draco Malfoy laugh, and it wasn't exactly too much of a bad sound. In fact, she liked it. This laugh was so true, almost fickle in its innocence, and she almost felt like crying at the sound. Every other time he'd ever laughed, it had been cruel and heartless, accompanied by his wicked sneer of triumph, often at some one completely, in Ginny's mind, undeserving of the punishment. That sound had been hollow, almost forced...but this one, it was so abandoned, as if it was something he could not hold down...It was real, and filled to the brim with genuine happiness.

She still could not believe this was the same boy she had known last year. It was so unlike Malfoy, and yet it was him. The smiles, however small they were, the admitted 'pillow-talk'...It seemed he did have a heart, and maybe it wasn't a very bad one after all.

After a moment, he made a noise of disbelief. "I'm sure I've laughed plenty of times before Weasley," he challenged, "You probably were just so unobservant you didn't notice."

Ginny grinned from where she was snuggled amidst her pillows and blankets. It was very warm here, and comfy..there was even a massive gap left, and though she denied it, she secretly hoped he would fill it..."As if," she countered, "There's not a girl I know who wouldn't tumble to your feet at the very instance of your laughing, like you just did."

She heard a slight chuckle from below her four-poster, where he lay on his self-made bed. "Am I really that great?" he asked, and she could almost see his eyes twinkling in her mind, "Anywho..." she heard him turn about, the carpet brushing against the fabric of his coverlet as he did, "Couldn't you get a room with two beds?"

"Well, Prince Malfoy--"

"Hey! That's more like it Weasley!"

Ginny scoffed at his remark, "Anyways, Malfoy; there was only one room left, and it was this one. Basically it was either leave you downstairs on a table, or drag you up here out of the goodness of my heart."

There was a moment of silence where neither spoke, then, "Well...I owe you, I guess."

She looked to the ceiling, studying it. Did she really need Malfoy indebted to her? As tempting a prospect though it was, she could not bring herself to forge those scars on his back and chest, drawn out against the paleness of his skin. "It's no problem."

He made a noise, and she wasn't sure whether or not it was one of consent or refusal, so she just left it at that. Outside the storm still raged in all its fury, battering the one window next to the bed. She peered out and all she could see was the angry sky, blackened and swirling in some unknown outrage. She found herself thinking of her family, wondering if Ron was in this motel, too, her mind crossing over whether or not he was sharing a room with Harry or Hermione, or neither. She thought about Fred and George, wondered how their little shop was doing and if they'd remembered to bring in their 'Explode on Contact With Hydration Cookies' display, which was very effective if you wanted some one's internal organs to tickle for a day. Percy...was he at home in bed, fast asleep, or still at work pouring over texts and scribbling down notes? Charlie--hiding from the water dragons in a cave, or snuggled up in a motel like she was...? And Bill--probably cozy next to Fleur, without a doubt.

And then her mum and dad, doubtlessly wrapped in each others welcoming arms, fast asleep in the otherwise empty Burrow. She thought of her eccentric father, the way he'd brought home a human cell phone just before she'd left for Hogwarts, and dialed countless numbers in utter awe. And then, her lovely mother, so caring and sweet, pondering the fate of all her children, mourning the loss of her first, in love and engaged, and hoping for a Prince Charming for the last. 'Prince Charmings...' Ginny mused, growing drowsy, 'I sometimes wonder if they exist...and if I may have accidently stumbled upon mine, that first day on the Hogwarts Express.'

Even though almost asleep at this point, she found herself intensely amused by that thought. Malfoy--Malfoy! Him, her Prince Charming. 'He's anything but,' she thought, 'He's rude, often snobbish and more than a prat. Then again...' She chose not to continue that thought, wrapped up in the warm, fuzzy feeling the notion of him created in her mind. What determined a Prince Charming, any way? If looks counted, she could check Malfoy in--if it were kindness...well, she wasn't too sure any more. Maybe he wasn't so much mean as sarcastic...but then again, maybe she had him all wrong, and he was that bad, was that cruel and heartless.

She couldn't bring herself to believe it.

The last thing she remembered before drifting off to sleep was thinking that Rosmerta must have charmed the windows not to crack, since the hail almost seemed to pelt itself at the glass, as if longing for entry to the tranquil haven within.

When the silence seemed to prevail over their tendency to talk, Draco was left alone in his own thoughts--and the revelation that Ginny was right about his declaration stating that Malfoys did not feel cold; it was the stupidest thing he'd said all night. He shivered slightly as a draught caught him from beneath the bed, wishing he'd listened to her and gotten some sheets from the closet, seeing as how the coverlet served as a makeshift mattress rather than a blanket.

He sighed, the darkness pressing in around him. He grew drowsy, his head lolling about on the fluffy pillow as he subconsciously fought the sleep...He could hear Ginny's gentle breath above him, and it was comforting. For some reason he had it in his mind to take a quick glance at her, or maybe just stay up and listen to her breathe--yet the tiredness pressed in around him, and he found himself imagining things in the dark. He would see his father's sneering face, his mother's smiling face, his father's deranged eyes, his mother's limp body...

His heart hammered as he thought of it, all the beatings and humiliation--eventually he came to the worse; his fondling. The violation of his body, while he lay there helpless and paralyzed in fear and pain; still he tried to stop him, always trying to stop him...But Lucius was unstoppable, and deep down a feeling of futility grew...there was nothing Draco could do, nothing...Lucius would never stop...Draco would always be subjected to this torture...there was nothing he could do...

Why did this happen to him? Why him? Sure he'd done his fair share of wrong, but nothing so bad that he should be punished as such...molested, ripped from all want to be physically attached to his form. He didn't want to feel his father--his own father--touch him like this, fingers gripping and pulling at tender flesh, nails cruelly biting into sensitive skin.

Draco shivered, pressing his eyes shut as sleep crept up on the borders of his mind. He deserved better than this...he deserved so much better...

Draco dreamt of the sunset, and it was a great contrast to what had lulled him to sleep in the first place. He didn't know exactly where he was, but he could feel something hard pressed against his back and he thought that maybe it was a wall or a floor, though he couldn't decide if he was upright or just staring upwards. He was conscious of his form, and he felt strangely light, as if he were floating, yet still the wall against his back told he was he grounded because he was pressed against it--of that much he was sure.

But his position didn't really matter, because in his mind's eye the sunset bloomed vividly, that wild orb of fire visible as a semi-circle crescented against the horizon, which was a vibrant yellow. Yellow, giving way to orange and red, blending into pinks and violets until it came to the darkness that was night, millions of diamond stars dotting that silken blanket that seemed so soft and reachable from where he was. Still, the whole picture seemed twice as alive as usual, fiery and fluid, so colorful it almost hurt Draco to focuss too hard.

And then he saw Ginny Weasley, silhouetted against the sunset, and everything seemed to be just a little bit better. The wind blew her hair towards him, fiery tendrils beckoning him to her, pink lips curved in a gorgeous smile. Her eyes glittered, blue and yellow and violet around the edges. She shone all the colors of the sunset, her beauty equally awing as the background, but each feature of the dream complimenting the other.

Beauty, such exquisite beauty...

Then it stopped. His eyes opened suddenly, and the storm was still raging. He twisted to glance at the clock, seeing it was barely twelve thirty in the morning. He lay there for a bit, the ground hard against his back and the object of his attention the ceiling above him. His eyes scanned the ridges, wary with sleep that was unwilling to return again...

The dream...such detail and intricacy, such perfection, all painted in his mind. Weasley, in all her splendor, the sunset ever comforting...'Maybe this is a message,' he mused, 'Maybe she's my sunset...' He toyed with the idea for a while, thought about it. It seemed so absurd, that a person could become his comfort--but then, these past few hours with her had been, respectively, the best of his life. He'd kissed her, for god's sake--not only that, but he hadn't found himself once wanting to leave her presence. He didn't know what sort of emotion this was, but it pleased him and he could only wish it would stay with him...maybe, forever?

He sat up, running fingers through his hair and looking over the top of the bed at where Ginny lay. She was a large bump, covered in blankets and surrounded by pillows, the only indication of her existence a tumble of red curls and her steady breathing. There was a lot of bed she hadn't used, and Draco found himself tempted to climb in next to her. The ground was hard against his back, and he didn't too fancy sleeping on it for the rest of the night. Slowly, trying not to wake her, he stood and mounted the bed with one knee, hesitating when it groaned protest. Swiftly, trying to avoid prolonging the noise, he shrugged in, bending to gather his pillows and coverlet, before lying back and settling himself.

The bed was comfy, if not a bit springy--but that wasn't really Draco's biggest worry. He lay there for a while, more than aware of her presence next to him, following her breathing and trying to catch a glimpse of her face from beneath the pillows. Her weight was a dent in the bed that he couldn't ignore, and though it didn't annoy him, it made him want to roll over and hold her. He was unsettled for a moment, the effort to restrain himself a bit to hard to withstand; then, he gave in. 'I kissed her after all,' he reasoned.

Slowly, he removed the pillows guarding her from view, snuggling in closer so that his chest was pressed against her back and instead continuing her pillow fortress around them both. Once finished, he gently peeled the blankets off her, slipping in behind her and relishing in the contact of her bare legs on his. Carefully, he placed one arm around her, burrowing the other beneath her so her weight rested on it. Placing his head on the pillow next to hers and finding his nose engulfed in her hair, he sighed, a bit too loudly.

The feeling that coursed through him at her closeness was simply put, undescribable. He shifted, taking deep breaths of her unique and alluring scent, closing his eyes to better sense every contour and curve of her body. He remembered having seen her naked, remembered the way her body had seemed to him so attractive, so commanding of him to lose himself in her. He could worship her, he realized--she was kind and sweet, and beautiful, and he was almost afraid because some of these feelings she made him feel were completely new and completely unknown--not to mention a little bit scary.

Gently, and the result of no thought in particular--just abrupt affection, though Draco thought otherwise-- he placed an innocent kiss on her bare shoulder, which was exposed to him as a mountain of pale, smooth skin.

He felt her wake up and move slightly at the touch, then yawn, shamelessly moving her legs back to capture one of his between her thighs, and then wrapping both her hands around his. He could almost feel her bristle with a deep, inner type of satisfaction, and that for some reason made him content. "About time, Malfoy," he heard her mutter, and he smiled into her hair, feeling inexplicably comfortable and overjoyed, in a quiet, tired way. He closed his eyes, felt her breathing settle as she fell back into the arms of sleep while consequently wrapped in his, before drifting off himself.

Author's Note: Yes, this took a while. I originally wrote it at three in the morning, and I was a bit drowsy so it turned out very...sparse XD...nevertheless I revised it (when bored), and came out with this, which is the best I feel capable of. I have the rest of the story written in my head, it'll just take a while to get the details sorted. Anywho, hope you liked this chapter, the next'll be out a little late too because my mom's birthday is on the 14th, and then me and my boyfriend are doing stuff for the rest of the week...

Yeah so, Read & Review!