Stupid Boy
Disclaimer: HP belongs to Jo and her boys.
I had to add a second part. The ending was… well… an end. xD
Italy was a bittersweet memory to him as he stepped out of the cab.
He vaguely recalled vacations to this tourist attraction with his parents, back when he was but an innocent child. His throat squeezed as he thought of this word.
That was exactly what he was there for.
He could still see her walking out the apartment door, leaving him for what she thought was the last time. It had taken him days, months, even, to acknowledge his mistake; he couldn't turn a corner without tricking himself into thinking he saw her. Even gone, she drove him insane. He could never touch another woman.
She had left him on a windy August afternoon, and he felt odd as he checked the years in his mind. It was July, now. He wondered what his child looked like and squeezed the handle of his suitcase tightly.
The cobblestone streets of Venice made his feet feel heavy and odd-shaped in his black shoes. His gray t-shirt clung to him in the sticky air, and he felt the sweat bead on his forehead. He reminded himself, for the final time, that this was what he wanted. No other way.
It had taken him weeks to realize that he loved her too much to let her take his life away. His work became boring and silly, and he missed her laughing face and her sparkling eyes. He hoped their child had the very same; he hoped it was the most beautiful being on the entire planet.
Now, as he crossed street after street and nodded at playing children, he only hoped she would still love him as much as she swore she did so long ago.
He followed the map idly, but came to the building more on instinct than direction. He raised his fist to knock, but hesitated; he knew that if he wanted to sweep her off her feet, like he had when he fell in love with her, it could only be by surprise.
The door was unsurprisingly unlocked when he turned the knob, and his raised hands were unneeded as there were no jinxes or charms guarding it. He ascended the apartment building's stairs and took a deep breath; cinnamon and vanilla. He was getting very close, and he could feel his mind thrumming with too many thoughts and questions.
Her door was at the end of the hallway, on the left. He stopped outside it, and set his bag down. He had crept down the hallway, stealthily and quiet, so as to not arouse suspicion from nearby nosy neighbors. Now he raised a palm to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening closely.
His lips turned in a forgotten smile as he heard the brief gibberish of a child on the other side. There was the low, female thrum of a mother's voice in return, and the child laughed. There was pattering, like bare feet against wood, that lead away from the door, and the heavy footsteps of a reprimanding mother followed. The room behind the door was empty. He walked in.
The living room was rather nice for a single mother and her child. There were toys strewn across the wooden floor, over a plush black rug. The walls were a deep green, the couches an off-white color, very wide and comfortable-looking. There was a glass coffee table that had been pushed aside to make room for a playing child, and there were many candles scattered across the room, a box of opened matches laying next to one.
He turned his head, taking it in. There was a hall that lead to what he suspected to be bedrooms and a bathroom, and a kitchen in the corner. Bread dough was laying in a clear glass bowl on the counter, with a dishtowel over it. Letting his curiosity get the best of himself, he lifted the edge of the towel and took a breath. Cinnamon bread. He never realized how much he missed it.
He could hear her scolding a child in a room down the hall, and silently made his way to the couch in the corner. After a moment of sitting there, alone, a young child, a boy, came sauntering back in wearing black shorts, sandals, and a white shirt. His hair came to his ears in little blonde tufts, and his eyes, hiding beneath shy, pale lashes, were the same dark mercury his had become. The boy lifted himself onto the couch next to him, a model plane in his hands, and looked up at the man beside him.
"You look just like me," the very small boy managed, very matter-of-factly, and Draco's lips lifted as his eyes welled. This was his son - this was his brilliant son.
"Well, that is because I am your daddy."
The boy blinked and smirked, turning his face back to his airplane.
"Mommy says my daddy was a coward."
A voice that made Draco's heart shatter into pieces and run through his body advanced down the hallway, shaking with her steps.
"Daddy abandoned mommy when he needed her most," she agreed, not even looking at her son, instead turning right into the kitchen to check on her bread.
"Yup," the little boy agreed, grinning at his mother's back.
"Or maybe it was," Draco began shakily, "that she left him when he needed her most… they just never realized it."
The bowl she had been carrying to an opposite counter slid out of her fingers and hit the floor, sending the dough flying. Trembling hands covered an 'o' shaped mouth, and a very shocked Ginny Weasley turned to meet the eyes of her son's father.
He stood, slowly, and advanced toward her, hands outstretched.
"Let me talk first," he said quickly, staring at her. She made no move to speak or push him away, only staring at him with rapidly tear-filling eyes.
"When you - when you left, I underestimated how long it would take for me to get my life back," he began lamely, and a jagged anger surfaced in her eyes. He scrambled to make his peace. "But! But, Ginny, I realized that I didn't really have that much of a life without you. I thought about that kiss - remember that kiss you gave me, when I graduated? - I thought about that kiss every morning, every afternoon, every evening… I thought about your lips when I looked at every other woman, and I grieved for you, somewhere, desperately alone, raising a little boy I wasn't prepared for."
She continued to stare at him, eyes wide and round, now red and leaking tears.
He extended his hands toward her, fingers outstretched and wide, desperate.
"I realized that there was a woman I had let down, somewhere on this planet, raising a little boy that I should've been there for. I wanted her back, so much… I loved her, so terribly, and she left me because I was so very stupid."
Ginny's lips twisted and turned, from a frown to a very watered down smile. She vaguely remembered her mother's utterance at her graduation. 'Stupid boy,' she had said, and she had heartily agreed. Perhaps until now.
Draco's voice began to crack as he attempted to patch up the past, delving into his pockets. He fell to his knees before her, holding his hands up in a mock-prayer.
"If there was any woman I had ever loved as much as you, she could never stand up to you. You're the only one I want, Ginny. I've already missed so much of your life, of our life, of his life. I don't want to miss anymore. I want to marry you and grow old next to you and raise this little boy until he becomes a man and makes the same mistakes."
She stared at him, dropping her hands as she smiled down at him. Tentatively, as if afraid to scare him away, she let her hand run through his blonde locks, gently massaging his scalp.
"And when he does, I will beat him over the head with a wooden spoon, and make him chase after her," she whispered, her face scrunching up in a mess of smiles and tears.
"Ginny, I want you to marry me. I want to raise this boy - this boy I don't even know! - and I want to love you until the day I die, knowing I did do everything in my power to make you happy."
She brushed his hair back from his forehead, gazing down at him.
"His name is Stefan, he has just turned two years old, and he is in great need of a father to help him do those boyish things that mummies don't do," she informed him. "His favorite color is green. He has never met his grandmother on his father's side, and he loves Muggle things."
Draco's face twisted unsurely at this.
"But he's magic," she whispered with a twinkle in her eye. "He's very much like his father, especially when he pouts. He is a sucker for sweets and lullabies. And most of all, he needs both of us."
With that, she leaned down, slowly, and pressed her lips to his, cupping his wet face with her fragile hands. Then they were both kneeling before each other, arms tangled and mouths kissing every inch of skin. It was only a miracle that she loved him so much to take him back without having a hesitant thought.
She could see her mother's face at the shock, and could read Draco's mind. As she ran her hands through his hair and dusted her fingers along his shoulder, she laughed softly and said, "Stupid boy."
He had never heard it whispered so lovingly from any other person's mouth.
Moments passed. Finally, Stefan scooted himself off the couch and approached them, tugging his father's shirt.
"Daddy, can I please play with the candles?" he whined, pushing his lower lip out in a pout. Holding Ginny's newly-ringed hand, he laughed.
"Does that mean yes?" the little boy asked, excitedly bouncing from foot to foot.
His parents both turned their faces toward their son, frowning.
"No."
And that was that.