A/N: This chapter brings tears to my eyes. Sniffle. I find that the powers of tears are really brought out if you listen to Trust Me by The Fray while you read. Sniffle. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am not lucky enough to be as smart enough as to invent these characters myself. They are not mine. Too bad. –pout-

The Stone Speaks

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Dare To Breathe

DRACO

Deep breath. Another deep breath. "The Unbreakable Vow, Draco… is unbreakable. Ginny couldn't break it. It's physically impossible to break. She has to become a ghost when she dies. She can't pass on."

Slowly, so slowly that it was agonizing, Draco started to comprehend what Myrtle was getting at. "Oh my God."

"She isn't dead."

…

For a few seconds, Draco was numb. Myrtle's words echoed again and again and again through his seemingly hollow brain. He was staring blankly straight ahead. He didn't dare breathe. He didn't dare let his heart pulse. He didn't dare to hope.

Screw it.

Slam through the doors, crossing the bathroom so fast and disappearing through the exit that it seemed as though he had Apparated. In an instant, Draco was tearing through the halls. Myrtle was floating after him – she wasn't weighed down, and she didn't need to turn corners, but she was actually struggling to keep up with the Slytherin.

Never had anything been so important in his life, but never had his legs felt so leaded. He ran faster, faster, pumping his legs, and wishing that the Slytherin Quidditch team had kept him on so that he'd be in better shape. Hope and dread clung to his heart, battling each other, and his hands were clammy.

Ginny.

Ginny.

She was all that mattered.

And probably all that would ever matter.

Veering around the corner, and suddenly, there was Sanchia. She was walking in the opposite direction, and she stared into his eyes, but Draco didn't see her. He barrelled past her, and hurried up the stairs.

Myrtle followed a few steps behind. "Sorry," she said apologetically to the upset and wounded-looking Sanchia. "You know how they get." Then she zoomed after the tall, desperate boy halfway up the stairs.

SLAM.

Draco barged into the Hospital Wing doors. Locked.

His ghost companion caught up. "Draco, don't do anything silly. Be subtle – we're basically breaking into a mausoleum!" she hissed, glancing back down the stairs.

"CONFRINGO!" he yelled, and the doors blew up.

Myrtle sighed, rolling her eyes. "Subtle."

After the Battle, it had been transformed. It was where the dead were kept, until their families could take them away and have them buried or cremated (or even stuffed. Ew). Many were in the Forest under special protection, for they were either in such bad condition that they could contaminate everything, or needed to be identified after they had been… pulled to pieces. Or half-eaten.

Hundreds of beds had been conjured up and squashed together to fit one of the deceased on each bed, for respect, and a few mattresses were outside in the hallway, for any live students who were hurt during the stay of the dead. Curtains were drawn around each, and little signs were posted, to say who they were.

Gratefully, the Weasleys could not afford a funeral, and were getting all of their savings put together to organize it, so she would still be there.

Thank God they're not rich, or they'd have laid her to rest already, and she'd be buried alive.

Draco stopped, and walked through the Hospital Wing. Partly out of respect, and also because he was scared.

Seriously.

Alone, in a room full of dead people, in a room that's supposed to be locked, that no-one will check for days… and no-one knows that you're missing?

Well, Sanchia knows. But I shouted at her, so she'd probably just abandon me up here for spite.

The Slytherin moved faster, glancing around sharply at every shadow… but they were all his own. For no-one in this room would ever move again.

Apart from her.

His heart skipped several beats, and he put a long-fingered, cold hand to his chest, to remind it to keep going. Draco scanned the little signs.

Creevey, Dennis.

Daniel, Oliver.

Doone, Magenta.

Edgar, Emma.

Felton, Rupert.

Finnagan, Seamus.

Flitwick, Herbert.

No. Keep going. Draco broke into a jog, fishing his wand from the pockets of the jeans that he had not removed for days. He held it tight, and continued.

Urseme, Calib.

Veldred, Palmer.

Verona, Alice.

Wimble, Shawn.

Weasley, Ginevra.

Feeling his heart beat ten times faster, Draco slowed; he stepped sideways, into the tiny gap between her bed and the next one. The curtains rustled. Pushing back fear, he pocketed his wand (Myrtle held hers steady), and drew the gauze curtains back.

Unsure what he was expecting, Draco cringed… and then he saw her.

Even if a drifting, odd state between life and death, she was the most stunning thing he'd ever seen. Her heart-shaped face was paler than usual, paler even than in the church, so that her freckles stood out. Her eyelashes were losing colour, and her once-bright hair was dulling. She was blanketed, but her arms were free, over the duvet. It almost looked as though she was merely sleeping.

"Oh, Ginny," Draco whispered. There she was. His best friend. His love. His everything. He stood there beside her, watching her in the soft rays of the morning sun. He kept expected her eyelashes to flutter, her lips to move, as she intook breath or twitched in her Dreamland, but of course… she didn't.

No longer caring that he was surrounded by dead people, nor that he may be about to hold the hand of a dead girl – she's alive, Draco said firmly to himself – he reached out and curled his fingers around hers.

Sighing heavily, he knelt… on something sharp and painful. "Ow," he muttered. He released Ginny's hand and looked down, moving his knee sideways. He was about to nudge it further under the bed, but stopped. Why was a book here? Madam Pomfrey had totally emptied the Hospital Wing, so why was this book an exception?

Draco pulled it out. It was strangely free of dust, which was also strange. It looked very old, however, and the front cover was titled in Runes.

I can't read Runes… oh well.

He was lowering back to the floor again when Myrtle spoke. "Ye Anciente Curses."

A quizzical look crossed Draco's features. "What?"

"That's what the book says."

Draco eyes narrowed as his brain worked. "Maybe..." he said quietly. "Maybe…"

Then his grey eyes picked out a bookmark – a slip of white paper – wedged between the pages. His brow furrowing, he opened the book to that page. The bookmark was not a bookmark; it was a note.

Squinting in the poor light, Draco read it aloud.

Hello, Draco. I know that you'd find this. Well, I found this. It will help, trust me. And if you doubt what you read on this page, behind the Runes… don't. I have seen it, and I know what it looks like.

Love always, Sanchia xx

PS. I don't need you to back up on the Hogsmeade offer. I'm happy just knowing I made someone's life worth living.

Myrtle and Draco exchanged glances. Draco's glance said: 'what was that about?" and Myrtle's said: 'try reading the page she marked, stupid'.

Nodding, he removed the paper, folding it into his pocket, and then held up the page for Myrtle to translate. She waved her wand at it, murmuring words that Draco did not know, and the Runes rearranged themselves into English letters.

"Thanks," mumbled Draco, focusing more on what the words now said. He read:

'Tis one the most powerful things ever discovered. 'Tis a magik of its owne, and 'tis like nothinge else. 'Tis love. If betweene two persons expressed is nothinge but pure, perfecte love, then anythinge is possible. It has been seen few times to achieve greate things. Deathe is nothinge compared to what has only been seene twice in thee Wizardinge Worlde. If thee love is pure and perfecte, anythinge can be saved through an exchange of love's truest purpose. 'Twas discovered by a Muggle, many years ago.

Through love's truest exchange, thou can meddle with deathe, but beest thou love not pure enough, deathe is ensured. Be ye warned.

Silence.

"So, did you actually understand any of that?" Draco quipped, though he understood perfectly. His mouth was extremely dry. Basically, it all came down to love. If they loved each other perfectly, Ginny would be fine. If not, then they would both perish.

Tough choice.

"You understood perfectly," responded Myrtle coolly.

Damn. Why do I have to be friends with people who can read me so well?

"Er." Draco scratched the back of his neck nervously. He looked down at the terribly small, thin girl in the bed, and sighed. "Perhaps," he murmured.

Myrtle, too, sighed. "Draco… what do you have to lose?" she asked softly. "If you do, and you fail, then – I guess you'll both die. If you don't, she'll die… and you… you, loving her, may as well be dead. Your first love never really goes away."

The lump in Draco's throat was back. He swallowed past it. He wanted so badly to have Ginny alive again, but he was scared of dying. After a few seconds (through which Draco wondered why he had run so fast when he would come only to waste time), he said quietly, "How?"

His friend frowned. "What? How what?"

Again he swallowed. "How… do I…" he glanced at the book, the words of which were slowly transforming back into Runes, "…exchange love's truest purpose?"

"Okay. Say you're in love with someone. How do you show them?" asked Myrtle, tilting her head sideways and fixing her glasses absently.

Confusion swarmed in Draco. "Er. Tell them?" he guessed weakly.

She folded her arms. "I said, show them, not tell them." She paused. "The magic was discovered by Muggles. Do you know the Muggle fairytales? Sleeping Beauty – put to sleep. Snow White – poisoned. Rapunzel's boyfriend – torn by brambles. All survived. How?"

One… two… three…

"Oh, hell no." Draco tried to backtrack. "What if… what if people come in? And they see me with a dead person? And what if she wakes up?"

"I thought you wanted to her to wake up!"

"I do!" Draco cried. "I just… it wouldn't work, anyway," he said darkly. "She hates me."

Myrtle raised an eyebrow.

"She does, believe me. They were her last words. 'I hate you'. And then – and then she was gone," Draco muttered.

The ghost smirked. "You'd be surprised."

Why do I get the feeling that she knows something I don't?

"Do it, Draco."

His breath was very fast in his chest, and seemed to be having difficulty coming out of his mouth. He moved the book away, dropping it behind him, and, ignoring the bang that it made, stepped closer to the bed.

Hello. How are you today? Dead? Okay, that works.

Draco twined his fingers through hers, and then he rested his legs against the side of the bed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in breathe out breatheinbreatheoutbreathe – don't you dare start hyperventilating!

He moved his other hand to her face, curving his hand around her cheek, before sliding under to the back of her neck, tilting her limp, slightly pointed chin up towards. Disregarding his fluttering heart, Draco leant down… further… further…

Their faces were only separated by a tiny space of oxygen and total fear, and then Draco closed it. He bent over her, pressing his cheek close to hers, feeling tears come, and holding what would probably be the last memory he could have of Ginny.

Then he kissed her.

A/N: Wow! Another decent cliffie. I know, I know, it was kind of obvious that it was going to be love that had the possibility to save her. I couldn't decide whether to name this Dare To Breathe or His Everything. If you review, please give me your opinion. Anyway. Review review review!

Haha. I liked the line: 'how are you today? Dead? Okay, that works'. Hah. It cracked me up. Anyway. REVIEW! DO IT. NOW.