# Don't miss you at all

Szaranea

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 18/04/2004
Last Updated: 21/04/2004
Status: In Progress

Now a series... Draco's thoughts interwoven with a Norah Jones song... he seems to be in denial. I'm mainly posting this because Faith is showering PK with her cookies too :P

## 1. The first and only chatpter

Don’t miss you at all

Author: Ri, aka Szaranea
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: This is a quasi-songfic. Meaning, that it was inspired by Norah Jones' "Don't miss you at all". Okay. It's a rip-off, I admit it. But when I heard that song after buying that album, my first thought was: "Ah, sounds like Draco when he's in denial". Since I love Draco in denial almost as much as I like some good D/G smut or snog, I thought I'd share this with you. I had originally planned this out to be a little longer, and intended to post it on the fanfic part of PK, but it's rather shortish, so I didn't. And here it is:
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It’s snowing outside. For the first time this year. Snow really is an amazing thing, don’t you think? Pure and simple perfection, geometrically spoken. Every little snowflake different, but all the same beautiful. Why can’t everybody be like snowflakes? Why can’t we be like snowflakes? And why do I even bother to talk to you? – you’re not even here. And it’s for the best like that. I don’t miss you anyway.
With the snow comes the cold, though. Especially up here, where I’m even more exposed to the icy sting of the wind, and the cold that seeps through my heavy cloak and my flesh, gripping my bones tightly.
I can hear the faint sound some of the other students are making down on the grounds. The wind is carrying them to me. They are savouring the first snow in their own way. Who knows, perhaps you’re one of them?
I don’t really care. I don’t miss you. If I would, I’d perhaps think about your smile – always warm and caring – but I don’t.
I’m here for the solitude, and the noise should actually annoy me, but strangely, it doesn’t. It’s like music to my ears – very un-Slytherin if you ask me, so don’t tell anybody. I have confidence in you there – because if you did, then you’d have a lot to answer for.
There really isn’t that much to tell, now that I think about it. I’m not even sure as to why there even is something. I’d rather there weren’t. I’d rather it stays that way. I’d rather you’ll never come to me. You’ll stay a distant memory that way, somewhere deep in the drawers of my mind. I don’t miss you.
The lights are going dark now. I’ve been sitting here for a long time, as it seems. The kids have long retreated to the warmth and comfort of the castle and dorm lights are being put out already. Darkness must have fallen at least two hours ago – I apparently missed dinner. I don’t miss you, though.
Your eyes are dark – chocolate brown, to be precise. They don’t haunt me. I don’t see them everywhere I look – it is too dark for that to be possible anyway.
But there’s this nagging feeling that won’t let go of me. I feel empty. What am I? Who am I? I never asked myself that when you touched me. Your touch is always warm, and now that it’s gone I feel cold. It’s just the tiniest of doubts rising in me as I sit and watch the snow falling down.
I don’t miss you – but I know that I have never felt the way I do when you hold me – your hands brushing over my skin, your lips on mine. What am I without that? – empty, lifeless.
So I continue to watch the earth being covered by white perfection asking myself if ever the same will happen to me. Would it be white too? Or would it be red?
But I don’t miss you. I don’t miss you at all.
Still, I am going to see you again.
But I don’t miss you – I can’t be missing you. And I don’t. Not at all.

## 2. In the morning

In the morning

Author: Ri, aka Szaranea
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: I hadn’t planned for this, but the story is now a series. You might expect futher chapters. The song “In the morning” can also be found on Norah Jones’ new album, “Feels Like Home”, and this is another quasi-songfic. Poor Norah. I feel like I’m raping her songs.

Draco,

Another day, another morning, another reason not to get up. Even though they seem to be the same, there is a slight difference between each reason: you, you, you, you you, you and so on.

That is why I’m writing you: after all, you’re the one thing that it all comes back to, in the end. All, but not me. I don’t seem to be able to come back to you, and that is because you obviously don’t want me to.

I hear your name wherever I go. It’s Draco here and Draco there and Draco, Draco everywhere. It took me some time to realize that it is because I can’t keep myself from calling out your name.

And I’m falling back again. Back where? Just back. It’s the falling that matters. Funny how one word can express so much. I have fallen for you Draco. I am not begging you to take me back – because I know you won’t, but between all those heartless kisses, the exchange of physical pleasure, I have fallen for you. I threw my heart into your hands and you deliberately stepped aside. And now it’s falling and it won’t land. It is falling, I am falling.

And I fear that it’s not going to land anytime soon. I won’t be able to pick up the shards for a long time. Maybe one day I might give it to somebody else. But I’ll never throw it again, never ever.

One day. It’ll take time. Time. It’s flying by and standing still at the same time. Time and time again. One moment it’s morning and the next I find myself in the middle of the afternoon.

It’s all pressing down on me, just as I felt like somebody was lifting me up whenever we met. It’s dark and ominous, light and blinding, hot and searing, cold and freezing all at once. I’m not having my heart torn out – I ripped it out and threw it away myself, after all. But I can’t get it back alone. I need help with it. If you can’t show me the way to your heart, then help me find mine again at least

I don’t know why I’m even bothering with this though – I wouldn’t find a hint of decency in you even if I looked with a magnifying glass. I can’t win here. But still I love you.

You don’t know how much writing this takes out of me – because I try to stop thinking about you, I try to tell myself that I’m over you. But I know that I’m lying everytime I do it. I wake up, and I know I’ll have to suffer through another day without you. I’m not sleeping properly anymore. I’m not talking anymore unless spoken to. I feel much to weak for that. I can hardly speak at all.

Hermione tried to cheer me up yesterday. She came to my room with a tray loaded with tea and cookies. I felt slightly better after talking to her. But then I took a shower and changed into my favourite shirt and it smelled like you. And now I’m feeling even worse than I did before. You are everywhere. Bitter traces left behind, reminding me of everything I can and will never have. You have stained my life Draco, and nobody but me can really see it.

My first thought in the morning and my last in the evening belong to you. I thought that my life had just begun with you, but now I feel like you’re going to be its end.

I know that you won’t write me back, but I’m still writing this. Why, I wonder? It’s because I know that I can’t let go of you, because I would do everything for you, and it scares me. I feel like I’m your slave.

And I’m calling your name all the while.

And I’m falling.

In the morning

In the afternoon

- Ginny

## 3. The prettiest thing

The prettiest thing

Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Another companion piece. I know already what the next one will be. I kind of twisted the text of the song for my own purposes. Hope you don’t mind. The song “The prettiest thing” can also be found on Norah Jones’ new album, “Feels Like Home”, and this is another quasi-songfic. Poor Norah. I feel like I’m raping her songs.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on a window seat in Astronomy Tower again. He liked coming there, because it was one of the only places that were not stuffed with other people. Somewhere deep inside him, he hated crowds. Today he was trying to figure something out. Something that seemed oddly important. He was holding a crumpled letter in his hands, and staring at the lake blankly.

The prettiest thing he ever did see... what was it? He guessed it was some sort of nature phenomenon. The Weasel knight would surely die of shock if he knew that Draco Malfoy liked watching blooming trees, or stormy weather.

Lightning was something he could connect to. It reminded him of himself a little. It was dramatic. It came as a surprise, and where you least expected it to. It revealed it’s surroundings only for a short time, and left the spectators in an even more engulfing darkness than they had thought themselves to be. It was illuminating. It preceded thunder. It was dangerous. It was quick. It was determined. It aimed for the highest places. He was lightning.

Some distant part of his brain piped up that perhaps a clear sky had its merits too. He shut it down quickly, because the clear sky that came to mind was oddly red. Lately, he wasn’t being himself. The prettiest thing he’d ever seen seemed like it was a picture hanging on somebody else’s wall at the moment.

This whole thing was heavy on his mind. Groaning, he let his head fall back, so that it was leaning against the wall, and he was looking at the ceiling. He had known that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. Whyever had he kissed her, back then? Whyever had she kissed him back?

He was dreaming again. Not really dreaming, but he had his eyes closed, and a stream of pictures was flashing in his mind. He could not block them out. He could not open his eyes. He could not escape.

Because deep down, he knew that the prettiest thing he ever did see was not lightning. It was also not a clear sky. It was neither wind, nor weather. It was not a flower, nor was it a tree, a lake or a mountain.

It was dusty as the handle on the door, and rusty as a nail. It smelled of old tomes, and of creaking floor boards. It felt like something he had never had: it felt like home. It felt comforting. There were no loose floor boards at Malfoy Manor. Neither could you find dust there. Nor rusty nails. Nor comfort.

Of course, he was dreaming again, like he had always been. And way down low, he was thinking of the prettiest thing.

It was her.