An Ordinary Ledged.

Chapter Four

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Reader,

I have taken to addressing my letters, memoirs, reveries to 'you', as it makes me feel somewhat sane. She always did say I hid behind my safety blanket, deep within my comfort zone.

I cannot tell you much of the days that passed; she never mentioned them to me in great detail. I know she practiced, received instruction, just as I did. It never seemed out of the ordinary to us…

… And that is where our downfall was. Were we childish, unready? Silly questions, for a silly fool. Of course we were. We still are. Or rather, I still am.

I sit looking over an overgrown park out of a grimy inner-city window; the third gin and tonic of the hour cradled in my hand, my pens and my liquor the only things that I spend money on. I seem to live off of cigarettes and dreams, their smoky haze clouding my days, keeping me wrapped in their visions, fighting to find her.

But she's gone.

I suppose I should re-start. Re-tell the tale as she told me to tell it. She said that at the end, then, and only then would I find my release.

But before this, I demand a refill. I will abandon all of my familiar prideful elegance, and stumble and slur my way through an excuse for my next drink.

Because, if I'm honest, there's no way that my tongue will speak on my own – my mind, my heart, and my head are fully disjointed.

They were never together in the first place. Oh! Do forgive me; I've seemed to have splashed Gordon's down your page.

Well, reader. Perhaps tonight it is best just to sleep. Sleep and live in my dreams. Live in the life that was mine, the life of someone I never knew.

As always,

D. Malfoy.

A dark man read the words, a small soft smile on his face. He glanced at the passed out man with two days' stubble, and at the woman with ringlets twittering about his bed.

"Leave him," the man said "he's got to come to terms with it sometime. I suppose it would be easier to do it now than to waste energy while he's awake."

Blue eyes snapped up to meet her brother's. "I suppose…" she murmured hesitantly.

He grimaced. "Look, it'll be easier on him as well as us. Do you want to wait for another opportunity? Just look at him, he's fading away."

A cool hand rested on the blonde's forehead. "Oh, what have you done to yourself?" she asked. The dark man joined her by the bed. "What have we done to you?"

Together, they lay their twined hands on his forehead and on his heart, and a soft smile graced the carved marble features of the only Bard left.

"Come Elissa," the dark man said. The two turned and walked out of the door, paint peeling and falling to the rusty carpet. "We'll be back in a short while and he'll still be fine. Don't worry so much!"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

He sank in the darkness, warm and comforted. When he awoke, he was once again in his familiar emerald green bed, encased in velvet curtains and cut off from the world. Nothing, it seemed, would ever change.

Rolling out of bed, he reached for his robes and glanced at his wristwatch on the bedside table. "Shit!" he cried, hurling himself into his clothes and reaching for his black leather book and quill case, which he took everywhere with him nowadays.

A sleepy protest came from the next bed, curtains swaying with the occupant's movements. A cocoa hand reached out into the open, a one fingered salute Draco's greeting. "Piss off and go back to sleep you bleach-head."

"Go back to sleep, Blaise. It's not worth your dignity." A sigh was heard, and a thump sounded when his head hit the pillow. That, Draco thought gratefully, was that. Blaise never could function well before ten in the morning.

He quickly raced up to the tower room, long legs swiftly carrying him through now-familiar halls.

Reaching the portrait he flung the password at the man. "Sweet Irony!" he panted, hands on his knees.

And then, there she was. "Have you written, Draco?" He inched closer, drawing in her grace.

"Yes. I always write. You know that." She nodded, ringlets bouncing.

"And let me guess, it's getting harder in my presence." Draco raised an eyebrow, allowing himself that one concession. "And, it's easier after our meetings when you go outside and sit in the oak tree beside the rose garden, am I wrong?"

Draco shook his head. "No, you're right." A glowing smile broke out. "I knew it. I'll have to talk to Markus about this."

"Markus?" He asked, not sure if he was jealous. "My brother." She explained. "He knows someone I think you'll find interesting."

"Oh?" Draco asked, not really caring. "That's interesting." He took out his eagle feather quill, opened his black leather book and unscrewed the black ink that he always kept in the tower room.

"Elissa," he started, "what do you think of this? Why are you still bothering with me? All I do is write. It can't make for interesting and stimulating conversation."

The muse looked sadly at the blonde haired boy in front of her, blue eyes meeting grey. "Why shouldn't I, sweet? You have a gift. It is my job to see that this gift develops."

"Oh." He uttered. Elissa heard ever insecurity in that single syllable. If it were in her nature, she would have acted on the very strong urge to beat, curse, and hex Malfoy Senior. She continued to muse silently to herself as she watched lines upon lines of ink scrawl across the creamy pages in a spiky hand.

She would have to keep a large supply of chocolate on hand if this was the type of thinking Draco brought about.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

She sat in the garden, the roses surrounding her. She held a flute in her hands, staring at it.

"What do you mean just play it? I don't know how to."

"But you will if you just try to play." Markus urged her. Stubborn wench.

"What part of I don't know how to play don't you understand?!" she snapped, frustration overtaking her sensibility.

"Damnit!" Markus cried. "Just play the damnable thing and you'll see what I mean. I can't explain it to you, you silly child!" He threw his arms up in the air and flung himself down on the dark grass, a scowl on his face.

"Fine." Ginny spat, and lifted the flute to her lips. As soon as the breath left her lips, a sarcastic and mournful melody left the flute, her fingers flying. She glanced up in shock, and saw the delight on her teacher's face.

The music became light and airy, happiness infusing the air around them. The roses leaned in, drawing in the energy. Their colours seemed to glow, and the air grew sweeter with their scent.

When she grew tired, she lowered the instrument. "So that's what you were talking about."

"Yes," said Markus. "You silly, stubborn, brilliant wench. That's what I was talking about. Now, the real test is if you can remember what you were playing."

Auburn eyebrows scrunched. "It started out in Minor. And then it changed. I think it was in G."

"Excellent!" the dark man crowed, leaping over to Ginny's side and engulfing her in his arms. "Oh, you clever thing, you!"

A muffled agreement came from his shoulder.

"You know," he started "my sister knows someone that I think you'll find very interesting."

"Indeed?" Ginny asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Indeed. I'll have to arrange a meeting soon, now that you've managed the most simple of things." She smacked him on the shoulder. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry." He conceded. "You're not that much of an embarrassment."

"Oh, I never!" she said, mocking the smug man beside her.

"Mmm," he murmured. "What time did you say it was?" Ginny looked at him oddly. "I didn't..." she looked at her wristwatch and trailed to a stop. "Oh Merlin! I was supposed to meet Hermione!"

"Well, off you go then." He watched her as she ran off, forgetting the flute. "Women." he sighed, banishing the instrument.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

The man opened bleary grey eyes, but quickly shut them against the sunlight reflecting off of dingy cream apartment walls. He retreated into the darkness, and the shades of his memories. The vision of red chased him waking or sleeping, bittersweet in its persistence.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Three weeks later, and they had met. He didn't know quite how to explain it, but the air was became charged with … something … whenever she walked in. Expectations-write-feeling-tension.

He automatically took out the moleskin notebook, and looked at her. "Well?" he asked. "What have you been working on?"

She looked at him, brandy eyes breaking him. "Many things. What sort of thing were you thinking of?"

"I'm sorry," she said after a tense moment and rose to her feet, "I'm not sure how this going to work."

Draco felt a sort of desperation sweep over him "No. Don't." He wasn't sure what the 'don't' was in answer to. "It doesn't have to be this way. Just, take something out and play it."

Ginny swept glowing wisps of hair off of her forehead, nodded, and sat back down. "Fine." She said, and opened the case next to her, putting the flute together.

Draco wasn't sure what their music was, but it was some kind of magic he was unaccustomed to.

It was something they were unready for.