Sunsets

Draco swore he'd almost died when he'd seen the tears in Ginny Weasley's eyes--forgetting all precaution he'd stared over to the Gryffindor table, cursing whomever had written that letter, and wondering, slightly perturbed, if it had had anything to do with him. He still remembered, too vividly, the crystalline tears that had shone in her eyes the day before, and wished beyond all reason that he could show her why he'd made the decision that he had. Maybe she'd understand then, but still he couldn't bring himself to speak his troubles aloud--it simply was not in him, and though it nagged him that he could not help her, he found himself equally helpless.

How could he tell her what had happened to him, with the knowledge that she would forever look at him differently? How could he tell her? Even if he showed her, he knew the result would probably be the same, yet showing her was a risk he was willing to take when the oppurtunity arose. He just couldn't tell her, watch the expression on her face change from concern to disgust, to disgusted sympathy, a type of piteous haste to be rid of something that was dirty. He couldn't be near her when she found out, couldn't be facing her when it all unravelled.

He shuddered, his heart clenching when she hurriedly wandered away from the Great Hall, her destination unknown to, it seemed, even herself. On her face was plastered a look of fake mildness, when he could see, even from this distance, the emotions boiling over under the surface. He wondered, vaguely, why no one else from the table followed her, and then used every ounce of concentration to restrain himself from bolting out the hall after her.

He shut his eyes, forcing down the groan of agony that rose in his throat. He wanted to comfort her in his awkward way, wanted to tell her not to cry, even if it meant a few sarcastic remarks to make her more angry than sad. She could be angry at him, she could want to wring his neck, if only she wouldn't cry. Clenching his fists beneath the table, he told himself it was all for the better. If he broke away from her, and she from him, it would benefit them both. Then, he would be able to stop experiencing these feelings, these feelings that made him open to Lucius's punishments, these feelings that were because of her--then, he wouldn't be so gullible. There would be no more guilt, no more sadness or fury or whatever it was he had been feeling lately. Once there was no more Ginny, there would be no more of these things.

As for her, she would be far better off without him, as well. She wouldn't have to worry, wouldn't have to waste her energy or time on him, useless, pathetic and dirty him. She would be able to find a nice boy, a sensible one who wouldn't be able to cause her any harm, directly or indirectly. A boy who could make her happy, who could love her without inhibitions and secrets and all the flaws Draco found he had developed.

It made the bile rise it his throat, but he actually thought that she would be better off with some one like Potter, Harry stinking Potter.

Opening his eyes again, he forced himself to finish his dinner.

---------

The next day passed in an anguished sort of silence for Draco, filled with thoughts of Ginny that he couldn't seem to push out of his head. He didn't know why she haunted him like this, he didn't know why she made his whole heart heavy. He didn't know why he felt the urge to kiss her like a mad man every time they passed in the hallways. Nevertheless, he made sure to avert his gaze, never daring to look at more than her gruffy old shoes and wonder in a shocked sort of disbelief if he'd ever get to kiss her little toes...

That was what his thoughts of her were like--gentle, delicate thoughts that accentuated the finer points of life, the simpler pleasures. For Draco, he found these thoughts almost consoling, small wafts of affection like the emotion that had compelled him to kiss her shoulder that night. Small wafts of affection that made him realize why he should have said those three words that day, small wafts of affection that made him realize how true those three words were.

He kept trying to deny it, to push it away, but he had already acknowledged that it was a truth, a truth he would never tell her, another one of those unspeakable things. If he told her, that would somehow make it real, as if the way it was in his head, floating around randomly, it could still be ignored, shoved away as a lie.

That night he dreamt that wonderful dream again, with Ginny Weasley and the sunset--that night he smiled in his sleep, before he woke himself up with a jolt, unwilling to let himself succumb to any emotion having to do with her. He blinked, and blinked again, but the picture seemed to be emblazoned on the back of his eyes, so that the only thing he could see was her and the sunset.

Ginny Weasley...and the sunset...

He didn't sleep again that night.

The next day, he dreaded stepping into the Potions classroom. It meant being enclosed in a small, quiet space with his yearmates and her. He didn't know what he was going to do--the Potions room held so many memories of being with her, sitting with her, holding her hand. He could still feel the tense atmosphere that had existed between them, still feel the sting of her words that day he'd angered her. He could remember everything, and none of them seemed very pleasant to this mindset right now.

Sheepishly, he came in late, hoping that she'd come in early and gotten a seat away from the one where he usually placed himself. Clenching his fists in both disappointment and gratitude, he took his usual place, now seated next to Blaise Zabini, and watched her tumble of red curls two rows ahead of him. 'Weasley...Weasley...' he thought, nails grating the table, 'Weasley...I wish I could show you...I wish I could let you know everything.' Subdued with his numerous and collective thoughts of her, he worked diligently during class, not even realizing until dinner that the answer to what he wanted to show her was right in front of him, simmering a healthy, but unfinished aqua.

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He'd skidded out of the Great Hall that evening, heading straight for the library and cursing himself for not having thought of this earlier. 'Cattivo Ricodare,' he thought, profusely satisfied with his discovery, though a bit pinched that it had taken him so long to think of it, 'That's how I can show her...It's shows a person's worse nightmare, a situation that has scarred them considerably...' He trailed off on that thought, not wanting to delve more into something he already knew was the 'it' he'd been searching for. This would show her! He would be able to keep his promise and show her, and maybe after that it would give him some peace.

But of course there were more pressing matters to think about...What if Snape saw what his father had done? Would Snape go that far into grading the potions, as to actually experience them, too? Swearing, Draco pressed his forehead against the pages of a book he'd opened, under the pretense of studying something important. He decided that it was not worth the risk--he did not want Snape's sympathy if the man saw his nightmare; he did not want any one's sympathy, and he did not need any one to know his shame. Only Ginny Weasley could know, because he trusted her, he decided, he knew he trusted her, and he knew she would not do anything that might make matters worse. 'Only I can make matters worse,' he mused bitterly, a plan formulating in his mind, 'Only me...'

That night, he revised his plan of action--it was known that in order to show Ginny what he wanted her to know, he would have to brew the Potion correctly; that was no problem, no problem at all. The only thing was that he would have to brew it an extra day earlier than when it was due, steal one of Snape's grading vials and discreetly store some of the Potion in it. It sounded simple enough, but here was the hard part: the ingredient he needed to configure the Potion afterward into a brew similar but not the same, was extraordinarily rare. He didn't even know if it would be in Snape's cupboards, and if it wasn't he would have to purposefully screw up the remnants of the potion.

He groaned...his Potions mark would decrease by lump-sum measures, he was more than sure; after all, this was the first Potions assignment of the year, and whomever couldn't complete it correctly definitely shouldn't have passed into the class. He turned over onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow and inhaling deeply. It would have to do--getting a bit of the good stuff for Ginny wouldn't be hard at all, but if he couldn't change the remaining 'good stuff' into 'bad stuff', he would just have to endure extra-curricular activity for the rest of the year to bring up his mark.

'What does it matter, any how?' he thought, 'My life isn't going to get any better...'...without Ginny. It was there, in his head, but he couldn't even bring himself to think it. His life wasn't going to get any better without Ginny--without Ginny, he didn't even have a reason to be happy. Without Ginny, he didn't even have a reason to live. She was his hope, his dreams, everything he'd ever needed--apart from the sunset. But now, he couldn't even call that salvation any longer, simply because it's very presence reminded him of her.

He rolled over again, thinking of that blissful kiss, and how happy it had left him that night. He thought of snuggling up next to her on the bed, how warm and comfortable he'd felt, how perfectly at home it had been--as long as he was with her. He thought of how much she'd tried to help him, how much she'd wasted her time on him, and he wondered if simply showing her why he couldn't love her the way he should be able to would be enough to repay her kindness and caring.

'Will it be enough?' he asked himself, 'Will it lift this weight on my shoulders? Will it make her understand?'

Maybe if his mother was still alive he could be with her, but he realized how selfish that would be. His mother's happiness for his--it was not a worthy trade. At least his mother had escaped, at least she could no longer be hurt; that notion, though painful, had him worried about one less thing. He had thought about going that way himself, too many times to count, thought about leaving his father to join his mother, wherever she was, so that the two of them could have their happily ever afters. But he knew that now, after all of this with Ginny, he would never be able to have his happily ever after, unless it was with her. He could leave this world and join his mother, but he would never be at peace, simply because he knew she would still be here...without him.

'Maybe this will always be my life,' he thought, saddened by the prospect, but equally accepting, 'Longing for something that I can't have...longing for something that I could only bring anguish to.'

He grew tired, but still his thoughts lingered on her. Maybe if his father died, he could learn to make her happy. Maybe if his father died, he could crawl back to her and beg forgiveness and pardon, and shout out to the whole world how much he loved her. He could marry her once they left school, and they could live somewhere far away with only eachother for company. He smiled at the thought, even though he knew in his heart it would never happen.

'Ginny Weasley...' he thought, 'Beautiful, kind, caring, brave, sweet, intelligent...and not mine.' Maybe if he wasn't Draco Malfoy it would be easier. Maybe if he ran away and abandonned his whole identity she would be his, someday. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

He fell into a fitful sleep, at first, plagued with too many maybes...eventually, though, he found himself yet again engulfed in the sweet throes of what was quickly becoming his favorite dream. He was so tired, he couldn't bring himself to wrench away, couldn't bring himself to not smile and clench the coverlets in subconscious ecstasy...He was disappointed, but satisfied in a small way. He'd found a way to show her why he couldn't be with her. He didn't care if, after that, he died or suffered for the rest of his life: he knew she mightn't accept him, he knew...but he also knew it would bring him a bit closer to accepting himself.

---------

He toiled tediously the next day, all the while wondering how on earth he was going to get his hands on that one ingredient and use it discreetly--and correctly--enough so that Snape would have no idea. He sat all through Charms, his mind filled with fleeting glances of Ginny, then the more grim prospects of getting caught stealing from Snape's closet...He faced a long, long term of detention, and if that long, long term of detention extended to beyond the due date of the Cattivo Ricodare potion, it would mean not fulfilling his promise to Ginny, and Snape seeing everything.

'Well,' he thought decidedly, 'If Weasley doesn't see this Potion, and even if she does, I'm not letting any one else get their hands on it.' He already knew exactly how far he would go to keep his secret unseen. Nothing mattered to him any more, nothing except Ginny. Ginny was his only reason, his only reason for anything.

He bided his time, sitting silently at lunch that day, not remembering to eat anything. He stared down at his plate, which he'd sparsely furnished with a few slices of roast beef and some bitter brussel sprouts that he wouldn't have eaten anyway. His head was in his hand as he analyzed the situation yet again. The assignment was due a week from tomorrow, and since tomorrow was Friday, Draco had the whole weekend to attempt his little theft. It would take skill, and probably that damned Invisibility Cloak he'd gotten for his thirteenth birthday, but he was more that sure he could do it. Then, Snape would undoubtedly throw a fit, and Draco ackowledged the fact that he'd have to keep his little bundle of prize hidden for a whole school week. Which would be difficult, yes, but he was sure he could do that, too.

The only thing he'd have to measure was the progress of the Potion. He would have to add it right after the powdered Fairy Wings, which would be the last essential ingredient to go in on the last working hour Friday. He tapped his foot under the table. If it was to work right, he had to have at least a five millilitres of the stuff, liquified, and it would have to be stirred in approximately a minute after the Fairy Wings. He had no idea how to tell if it had worked, all he knew was that it had to, for his sake.

He was playing a game of luck, and he knew his luck had treated him very badly in the past.

He finished the rest of the day's work with a bored flourish, not really bothering to pay much attention. He was trying not to be impatient, but he knew that it was not in his nature to wait very long for things. He was flighty, alert at every sound apart from a Professor's voice, and kept feeling like he should be doing something. 'It's almost as if I'm procrastinating,' he mused as he picked at his dinner, 'Even though I can't do anything until Saturday night, earliest.'

That night he finished his homework remarkably fast, or so he thought. It might have just been the fact that his mind was elsewhere as his body worked, scribbling a five metre essay for Transfiguration, reading around twenty-five pages for Charms, so on and so forth...He was already on the subject of Ginny, a bit mentally exhausted after all his non-verbal calculations, when she walked out of the Study Hall, brushing against his back with her smooth, lithe hands, giving him a waft of her sweet scent...

He shut his eyes tight. It had been their first contact today, and it sent him over the edge with a type of regretful happiness. He could have had that every day of his life, he could have had her. 'I ended it,' he told himself, 'I told her I couldn't be with her.' He knew it in his heart, though it ached him to think it. 'Besides,' the more rambuctious and debasing side of him intervened, 'She probably wouldn't want you, any way. You're a Malfoy, she's a Weasley. You've tormented her family for years and years...'

But I love her.

He couldn't think any more, just picked up all his things, fighting the cracking feeling in his chest, as if something were breaking, and rushed out of the Hall towards the Slytherin Dorms.

He couldn't think any more, but that night he would dream, as he always did.

---------

Ginny smiled a bit as she threw herself atop her bed, feeling it sink with her weight and all the coverlets wrap around her. She'd had to do it, she'd needed to feel him again. Even if it had been for such a brief moment, she'd had to do it. She didn't know if she could go on without him for much longer, go on without the feel of his sweetly warm body next to hers, without the pressure of his chest against her back as she slept. She wanted his genuine kisses, wanted his hands drawing little circles on her back as their tongues duelled, wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

And then, away from all of this, she wanted him. To speak to him again, hear his voice, joke with him, hear him laugh and see him smile. She wanted to love him, and know if he loved her too--heck, even if he didn't, she wanted him nonetheless.

She remembered back to her mother's letter, and twisted her mouth a bit. She'd told herself she was going to go get him, just like her mother had encouraged, but she'd not gotten around to it. 'Oh, I have all year,' she told herself, comfortingly, even though her conscience still stung from her mother's faith-filled words. Molly Weasley knew her daughter so well, and now her daughter was reconsidering how well Molly Weasley knew her, after all. 'Am I really so courageous, Mum?' she asked herself, hoping that her mother could hear her back in the Burrow, 'Am I really so bold, so fearless?'

She told herself she was, and so the next day she came in late, hoping to sit next to the young Malfoy, only to find he'd moved away from his usual seat. Snape gave her a disaproving glance, taking away five points from Gryffindor for tardiness, and then ordering her to sit next to Neville Longbottom, who was at the only available place. She grimaced , eyeing his silver-blonde head that was the closest to Snape's desk that it had ever been. He'd purposely avoided her, and now she didn't have an excuse to talk to him!

She grit her teeth all through the lesson, hoping that at least he'd glance back at her--but he did no such thing. Instead, he was fully engulfed in his Potion, studying it minutely and adding very little ingredients. It was almost as if he didn't want to finish it early.

'Cattivo Ricodare,' she thought, 'What an awful potion.' She glared meaningfully at Snape, who was rather wrapped up in some scratch on his desk, thinking that he had done this to purposely torment them all. Everybody knew what Ginny's potion would show; the Chamber of Secrets incident. Did she even have to make the damned thing when everybody already knew?

Rolling her eyes, she continued to restlessly stir her potion, wary of Neville's. The brew had begun to bubble up and pop--she found whenever the liquid touched her skin it stung horribly, and so was inclined to venture a bit farther away from him.

By the end of class his cauldron had exploded, Ginny only barely managing to save her almost-finished assignment and jump atop the safe haven of another table. The acidy yellow substance burned through the stone floor and the soles of Snape's shoes, getting Neville a prompt detention and fifty points from Gryffindor.

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When Draco snuck into Snape's office that Saturday night, Invisibility Cloak shrouding him comfortably from prying eyes, he told himself to take deep breaths, that he might as well do this since it was for the better. He was wary to caution himself; every step could mean another spell triggered to alert the currently absent Snape of his presence--if he was found, the whole plan was doomed.

He began to become nervous, studying with growing intensity the pattern of the stone floor as he trodded silently along it. 'Ginny, Ginny, Ginny,' he found himself thinking, saying her name as if it were a mantra, one that would keep him safe from the danger he had stepped into. After five minutes of making his way across the empty, grossly furnished room, he reached the cabinet, at first simply tugging it to see if it opened. It did not, and he almost panicked before he realized it was probably charmed.

"Alohomora," he murmured, his wand hovering over the doors. It did not open, so, frowning, he began a mental review of all the 'Opening' spells and charms he'd learnt, both in school and out of it. It opened on his tenth try, to a spell that could only be classified as one of the Dark Arts. Draco would probably never admit to it, but he'd spent a good few free hours locked away in the Malfoy library, trying out new spells and learning them. Thankfully, that seemed to be a place Lucius never ventured.

It creaked slightly as he drew the doors apart, pausing momentarily to see if any one had heard. He glanced around, saw no one was at the door, then turned back, his eyes greeted with a oasis of various sparkling ingredients. There were some that looked bloody, some that squirmed in their bottles, and others that seemed harmless, beautiful almost, but that Draco knew were deadly poisonous. He surveyed the shelves, hoping against hope he'd find the ingredient that he needed...

Casting a small hovering charm, he floated up to the top shelf, tucking his feet in to hide them among the folds of Invisibility Cloak. His eyes scanned, praying, praying that it would be there, praying, praying...His heart was sinking, he had seen it on none of the other shelves, and he needed it so badly.

'It's not there, Ginny,' he found himself thinking as he neared the end of the top shelf, 'It's not there and I'm--'

"Looking for something, Mr. Malfoy?" he found his cloak wrenched off him, and there he was, pulled around to face his stony-faced Potions Professor while hovering about five feet in the air. He gaped, seeing the ingredient he needed in particular held between two spidery fingers, his Cloak in the other hand. There it was, the very thing that had given him so much woe, powdered Acromantula Leg, sitting contently in a glass vial.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, his eyes still wide at his discovery. "Sir how--?"

Draco almost fancied he saw the man roll his eyes, an almost exasperated look on his face. "Here," he said, his voice icy as ever, pushing the vial and the Cloak towards his young student, "But please know that I will be marking you harder than the other students. If you do manage to use it correctly, then you will gain bonus marks. If not, you'll be deported to a lower class, simply because you had both the nerve to attempt to steal it and then use it incorrectly. Go."

Draco had no time for 'thank you's, or to contemplate consequences. Hastily, as if he were afraid the man would soon change his mind, he took the ingredient and his Cloak back, slipping the Cloak back on and hurrying away to the Slytherin Dorms.

Author's Note: This chapter was a little...let's say, on the 'low down' side. Not all that fizzy ;-). The next chapter will hopefully make up for that!

Okay, thank you to every one whose reviewing, and...KEEP ON REVIEWING! XD