"Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly.
Harry did not respond, but instead continued to stare into the sky.
"Harry?" she repeated.
This time, although he turned his face to meet hers, his expression was blank. Ever since Ginny had been sent off on the mission, Harry always seemed to be completely unfocused. After his and Ginny's disaster of a relationship ended, he had taken on the protective role of a brother, loving her platonically and unconditionally. While she had always been larger than life, he still knew she small and fragile. What if they threw curses at her and tortured her? What if she didn't have enough to eat? What if she were-
"She'll be fine," Hermione told him, reading his mind.
"Mmm," was all Harry managed to say. He knew others said she would be kept alive because she had information, he knew what they could do to her and still keep her alive. Bloody Hell! Why had they sent the smallest woman into the middle of hell?
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Hermione looked sympathetically at her old friend, before leaving the room and giving him time to think. The war had indeed a toll on everyone of the Order, and Harry wasn't the only one out of sorts. All the Weasleys were worried sick about their youngest daughter, as was Hermione. Everyone had already suffered enough losses before Ginny left, and to offer the youngest redhead to the Death Eaters was the last straw. Lately, within the Order, there had been countless conflicts. Lupin was the target of many of the Weasleys' wrath, blaming him for having sent out Ginny. The plan that had been so meticulously planned out beforehand lay in shambles, and it seemed as if Ginny's leave and possible death were completely useless. No problems were being solved, and they almost were just waiting to be defeated. Today, after much deliberation, they had finally put the plan back into action and everyone was preparing for what they hoped would be the final battle.
Walking up the stairs to the tower, Hermione laid aside her worries about the Order's capabilities, and instead focused on the dilemma her closest friend was in. She remembered Ginny's affair with Draco. Most everyone else had tried to forget the "You-Know-What" time that Ginevra Molly Weasley had lost her mind for a while. Hermione had always been a practical woman, and she didn't see the purpose in trying to forget anything. It was part of history, and it was not erasable. She recalled the night her friend came to her house crying uncontrollably and cursing life. After two hours of consoling and hot cocoa, Hermione had finally calmed Ginny down enough to understand what happened.
Ginny had always been so passionate about life and so utterly romantic that it hurt Hermione's heart to see the next few years of her young life waste away in pain. Now that she and Draco Malfoy were in close proximities again, Hermione could honestly say she had no idea was going to happen. She knew that one of Ginny's most admirable qualities was her loyalty, but would it lie with the Order, or with her heart that to this day Hermione knew still belonged to the blond man in her past.
Letting out a small sigh, Ginny looked inside the filthy room. Apparently, it was a storeroom for all of Draco Malfoy's belongings he had collected and tossed over the years. She had been ordered to clean it.
There were cobwebs in every corner, and dust stacked so high everywhere that it looked as if someone had poured it on.
Sneezing, she wondered where she was to begin. Deciding to begin in the furthest corner where tons of furniture and books were arranged haphazardly, she thought that going from the messiest to the relatively clean area would be easier.
She had been here for more than three months, and she felt abandoned. For the first few weeks, she had sent out a message to Lupin every chance she got. Now, she simply gave up. What was the point when she put her neck on the line to scrawl a few notes, and he didn't even bother to send back a response?
Moving to a servant's room at Snape's orders, at least she was no longer treated like a prisoner anymore but more like a servant, which in the world of purebloods was not much better.
Dusting the bookcases, she wondered how in Merlin's name she was to finish this task. Even after she ridded the shelves of dust, there was just an equally large pile of dust sitting on the floor. There was only a tiny window at the side, and little light streamed in from there. Therefore, she couldn't open the window to let some fresh air into the room or push out any dust.
Coughing, she knelt down to collect some of the potion and spell books lying around. Trying to pick up all of the books at the same time was a terrible idea, since some just toppled off and clattered to the floor. One slid under a bookcase, and she had to again bend over to retrieve it. Reaching under, instead of finding the book, she found a tightly bound package of letters. Blowing off the dust, she was about to place it on the shelf, but stopped abruptly when something caught her attention.
Where the receiver of the letter's name was written, in very neat writing there were two words written on it. Having spent a great amount of time in Hogwarts studying with Draco, or at least they tried but always ended up snogging, she recognized that it was his writing. What shocked her was not that Draco Malfoy wrote letters, but that he actually addressed it to Ginevra Weasley. Untying the string, she carefully opened up the letter on the top of the pile. Its date told her that he had wrote it two weeks after their fateful parting.
My dearest Ginny,
I wanted to tell you that I am sorry deeply regret our parting of ways. I hadn't meant to force you to leave with me like that. I had hoped you would stop me and tell me not to leave. But I see now that I was the one who was a fool inconsiderate to want you to give up everything for me. I hope you will forgive me we can remain on amiable terms.
Love,
Draco
Shocked, Ginny didn't even bother to carefully open up the next letter, instead she ripped off the envelope and tore the letter out. This one was written a month after the last.
My dearest Ginny,
I cannot believe that I am again writing to you. It's laughable that I'm yet again picking up this quill and writing these words down. You cannot fathom the agony I am in. Each day, we train and this means using each one of the Unforgivable Curses on muggles brought in. I am drained. We have curses shot at us to test our reflexive skills, and even are tortured to build up tolerance to pain. I need you my dear. I need to know that there is a reason to this life and that I will eventually climb out of this abyss.
Love,
Draco
The next letter was only written a day after the last.
My dearest Ginny,
I hear them screaming. I can't bear it any longer. Their pleas keep me awake at night, I have their faces etched in pain, scorched in my mind. It frightens me. They say Death Eaters should feel no pity, only a driving force to do their masters' orders, but I don't believe in his cause anymore. Hell, I never did. It was family loyalty, to withhold the Malfoy name.
If I do manage to fall asleep, I dream about you, I think you are the only one who keeps me sane. I wish I could take a sleeping potion just to be with you, if only in my dreams. By now, I know I might never send out these letters, but just to pretend that you will receive them propels me to live.
I love you my darling.
Sinking to her knees, Ginny read on and on. With each letter, it seemed as if he were channeling more emotions into them. He wrote everyday, and he told of what he thought about each day that passed. He said he felt as if he were becoming colder and colder with every coming day, but that he could only retain that cold composure after he wrote these letters.
By the end, Ginny was in tears. After her endless hours of sobbing over him, believing him either indifferent or hateful of her, he had still loved her. Regret cut through her heart that she had wasted ten years of her life apart from him and dying inside. The last letter had been dated to over eight years ago, after the first battle of the Order and the Death Eaters. If only she hadn't given up as soon as he flew off, she might have saved them both. He had hated the Death Eaters at the time and had even begged her to run away with him. If she had sought him out instead of being proud and refusing to allow him to see her cry over him, she might have happily spent ten years with him. Eight years ago he had still been a boy. A boy who although concealed his feelings effectively, still had his emotions intact. The man that stood before her now seemed to have cut himself from his emotions. He was cold and ruthless, able to commit the acts he had loathed years ago in a blink of an eye.
It was all too late, and that was the most heartbreaking thing to her.
But what she did not know, was that when she was weeping on the stone tiles, a tall blond man stood in the doorway with a wistful look upon his face. Turning, he left as quietly as he had come.
A/N: Wow, sorry about the incredibly long lapse. I can't believe I actually began writing again. This year has been horribly busy for me, so I couldn't do much writing. Sorry again.