AN: This is a short Drarry drabble. Like super short!
"I'm so sorry," the words slurred together, desperately seeking forgiveness, redemption, some signal that yes everything was different now, and no we would never be the same again, but yes in the end thing's will be better, and we'll be stronger, and you'll try harder, if she just grants you this one chance. That's all you're asking. Just one chance.
But she's shaking her head, and her tears are pouring down her cheeks, like a rainstorm in October, and the grey clouds won't break anytime soon. Because her heart is already broken, and the sobs that are escaping her mouth and the way her body spasms like that scares you. She looks so fragile. Like she's dying. And you know that it won't be quick, and that it will be painful and the bitterness will freeze her heart. How could you do that to her?
But you remember the night before. And the night before that. And their precedents, and you know why. And you know that you aren't sorry for cheating. You're sorry that you hurt her. That you can't make her happy. That she can't make you happy. That it has to end like this. That once this storm clears, the humidity after will burn you alive.
"Ginny," her name is a haggard whisper, and you step closer to her, but she pushes you away - simultaneously stepping back - furthering the distance between the two of you, until you can't distinguish her outline on the opposite end of the abyss that you just created. And like waves kissing the shore, you don't give up. You keep trying, no matter how many times you're pushed away and rejected. "Ginny, please."
Your pleading sounds broken, and you can hear all hope you have escaping with that soft plea. You can see it drown, extinguished like the flame that once lit up her bright brown eyes.
"Please."
"No." And that single word cuts deeper than anything you ever felt before, the pain shooting down your spine, paralysing you, forcing you to think that a Cruciatus or Avada Kedavra aimed for you would've been merciful compared to that monosyllabic word.
"Just go, Harry." She's wrapping her arms tighter around her, some sort of shield to protect herself from something. And with startling clarity you realize that it's you she's protecting herself from, and that hit sends you reeling, stepping backwards until the sofa is pressing against your calves and your knees give out, letting you fall into an hunched mess.
"Ginny, I-" but you can't find the words. They are escaped convicts, and there is no way that you'll be able to capture them and imprison them - use them to get your message across.
"Please," and her voice is cracking, and she's fallen on top of the coffee table -knocking off the cup of tea that had been sitting there previously. The tea spills, pooling on the wooden floor for the world to see. And you think that you could just wipe it away, make things better, but you can't. She won't let you.
You comply, because it is the very least that you can do after everything. So you are getting up. Your legs are shaking, and your vision is blurry. You can hardly see in front of you.
The door is getting closer and closer now. Your hand is resting on the doorknob. You turn around, and glance at her. Your lips part out of habit. To say goodbye? But that's so final. Too final. It can't end like this. Merlin. Don't let it end like this. But she is hugging her knees to her chest, and her sobs are so loud. They echo off the walls, and you are deaf to any other noise but the sound of her sniffles and laborious breaths.
"I'm sorry," you finally whisper as you turn the doorknob, and leave. Those are the only two words that you can muster, because you are sorry. And because goodbye is too absolute, and you are selfish, and you want to fix things. You want to pull her in your arms, and wipe her tears away. You want to make things better. But you can't. You won't allow yourself that indulgence.
"How'd it go with the She-Weasel?" Draco is standing in front of the fireplace in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. His countenance and tone of voice give nothing away. He is stoic perfection, with his sharp features and the fire reflecting off his hair and steely grey eyes. And it takes everything you have to not break down and cry. To show weakness in front of this flawless creature.
You open your mouth to say something, as you take a step closer to him. But you end up stumbling instead and falling to the ground. You didn't know that it would hurt this much. And the tears fall, unbidden, down your face.
"That bad, hm?" He is by your side in seconds, wrapping his arms around you. You grip at his clothes, trying in vain to pull him closer. To drown in his warmth. To feel like everything will be okay.
"Careful, Potter. You're getting your bogies all over my clothes," he sniffs in feigned disgust, and you attempt to laugh but the noise is garbled and sounds much too tragic. But despite that, you feel like a small weight has been lifted, because some things never change. Draco will always care a little too much about the appearance of his clothes. And some things never will. Merlin. You hope this never ends. That this never changes.
Time ticks on by. And the two of you are still in the same position you've been in for who knows how long. But your heart is lighter now, and the tears are slowing down. And even though what happened tonight still hurts like hell, you know that thing's will get better.
"Draco, I-" you want to thank him. For being here. For comforting you. But he cuts you off.
"I know." And it doesn't surprise you that he does. He knows you so well. He always has. You smile against his chest despite the heartache that still lingers inside of you.
"I lo-" But he cuts you off again, hugging you more fiercely than before.
"Shut up Harry," he whispers. "I know."
And you know that you made the right decision. No matter how much it hurt.
"Git," your smile broadens and the pain ebbs away, as you hold him much more tightly than before. You hold him so tightly it hurts.
AN: Thank you for reading this!