Drabble #3, Prompt: Eyes
A/N: It's past my bedtime but I'm really too tired to fall asleep. Also that was a really crappy ending but it was going to drag on forever so I chopped it and here you are, an update after forever.
She goes to the seedy, tucked-away-in-a-corner bar to forget.
It isn't like her to frequent this area (Molly's chiding voice rings in her head as soon as she steps into the rundown place), so far away from home. It also really isn't like her to run away from her problems or try to drown them in shot after shot of Ogden's Best Firewhiskey, but after all, there isn't any home sweet home left for her to run back to, only charred ruins and bitter memories. Technically, the fact that she was still alive was strictly due to luck and fair fortune, but she liked to think that fate was punishing her. Punishing her for never having been alone, unlike Harry, with so many brothers and loving parents and having always had the best luck and now in one stroke, they'd all been taken away.
The war's over and done, the heroes had their time in the spotlight, but now it's time to heal, to forgive and forget.
She's past trying to heal and done trying to forgive so she takes the only option left, and ends up slumped against the stained countertop, not knowing what the stains are and not wanting to know either.
In this unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar men and unfamiliar sights, she's tried her best to get away from anything and everything that could ever remind her of her lost family. But her devils have caught up with her, and she can't seem to shake them off before they're on her again.
It was Saturday afternoon, the sky a pure deep cerulean without a hint of cloud, and Ginny Weasley was happy. Well, not happy, per se; no one had been happy since war broke out, but it was her birthday and not only that, but her sweet sixteen.
The entire family was there (well, those not on the run from You-Know-Who), despite the danger: Bill and Fleur from Shell Cottage, Charlie, Fred and George, and Mum had pulled out all the stops. Now, everything was almost ready for the celebration, and she had been sent off away from the house to prevent accidentally catching a glimpse of the special surprise.
"Gin," George had mock stage whispered, "Act really excited when you see it, because we've finally got you a-"
Her mother had interrupted with a sharp, "George!" and Fred had jumped in with a quickly blurted, "Hogwart's toilet seat!"
She was just bending over to pick a few daisies to weave into her hair, still chuckling, when the sky exploded.
When she came to, everything was burning, and she had been thrown back against the hedges, nestling her body against the shadows and hiding her from the dark cloaks and death white masks that had appeared out of nowhere.
"That's the last of them," a rough voice declared somewhere to her right, hidden by a sudden billow of flame.
"You're sure? The Dark Lord will be displeased if we miss a single weasel," an oily, strangely familiar voice replied.
"Yessir, I personally took out the pretty blonde, and Fenrir got the scarred one. Everyone else has been taken care of as well,"
"Alright, if you say so. Just know that if the Dark Lord asks, you took care of this entire operation. Come, Draco, and stop dawdling," and the voices faded off into the distance.
Ginny got up, trembling, and made it a few steps before the last black cloak suddenly turned around and stared straight at her. Teary brown eyes met uncertain grey ones, and time stopped. A trembling wand was raised by a hand in a black glove, then lowered just as unsteadily, and with a loud pop! she was on her own once more. She didn't stop to question Draco Malfoy's motives, in light of the sudden realization that her family was gone, their bodies burning to ash, and slid brokenly to her knees in front of her family's pyre.
The littlest Weasley comes back to reality with a shock, certain that she's heard George's voice call out to her. But when she glances quickly around, there's no one but the bartender sulkily wiping down glasses, a veiled shape in the back corner, and a man with startling grey eyes in the doorway.
Everything blurs and dips and Ginny doesn't know whether it's the alcohol wreaking havoc on her body or damn, she'd really had way too many shots but suddenly Malfoy's eyes are catching and holding her own and they're more silver than grey, really, but it doesn't take long for all the repressed hatred and horror to come welling back up, reinforced by her latest drunken daydream, and she lurches up from the bar, making her way to him with great effort. As she stands there, swaying, she looks up into his eyes once more and reads the apologies etched there and suddenly staying conscious is more than what her mind can take. She embraces the dark willingly and slumps at his feet, a sodden, pathetic mess, and he doesn't have the heart to leave her there.
He picks her up (leaves the bartender a generous tip), brings her back to her cheap motel room (he found the key among her things), and deposits her on the hard bed. Before he leaves, he takes out a photograph, the one he grabbed right before his father blew up the Burrow, and places it within her fingertips.
She wakes up, a sullen, persistent thumping in her head, muffling out coherent thoughts, and reaches out for her wand only to realize that there is a photograph in her hand. It's the entire family, happy, smiling, younger and more carefree than she's ever remembered, in front of the pyramid in Egypt and that was ages ago and in a different century when she still knew how to smile.
His eyes are ingrained in her memory, and she hates him for that and despises herself even more.