Summer Rain by Nokomis

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 22/09/2003
Last Updated: 22/09/2003
Status: Completed

Rain and tears intermingled with regret and remorse, the pain of knowing what might never be.
Draco must make a choice between his father's demands and Ginny.




1. Summer Rain
--------------




The rain kissed Ginny’s cheek and held her close as it fell from the heavens. It plastered her
robes to her thin, struggling arms, and tiny splashes of muddy water flew up every time her
flailing legs hit the ground.



The black-robed men watched in amusement as the redhead tried futilely to free herself from the
magical bonds they had placed on her. She was secured against a pole deep in the woods that
surrounded Malfoy Manor. The area was secure- no sounds could escape, no spells could enter, no one
could see in. The area had been slowly fortified over the centuries. Torture was a pastime that had
been appreciated throughout the ages.



Another black-robed man entered the clearing. He seemed unaffected by the rain and unamused by
the sight of the young woman struggling against her invisible bonds.



“Now?” His voice was clear and loud, cutting through the mask he wore and into the rainy night
time air.



“Son!” exclaimed a black-robed man. “So good of you to join us on this fine evening!”



The crowd of men laughed as the man held out his arms and tipped his head towards the night
sky.



“What are you doing with her?” asked the son in a strained voice.



“Having a little fun,” replied the father sardonically.



“Father?”



“Yes, son?”



“I want to kill you.”



“Why would you say something like that, my son?” The words were spoken lightly, but with
undeniable force.



“I think you know, Father.” Rebellious, self-righteous anger filled the son’s voice, though the
cloaked form remained respectfully positioned. No outward sign of violence was detectable.



Lucius laughed mirthlessly. “I don’t care what you think you feel, son. You will do what I told
you.”



“But-” Draco then paused. “Yes, Father.”



“Good boy.”

Draco approached Ginny, and she squinted at him through the rain that fell into her eyes with
hatred, fear, and love.



He obeyed his father. He stepped towards the girl.



Lightning.



*Hi, I know you... My father tried to kill you back at Hogwarts. Your brother hated me. I
despised your love. But you’ve grown up lovely, my dear, lovely indeed. Would you care to take a
walk with me?*



*A furtive nod as she agrees.*



*Then:*



*Kisses, hungry sweet and anxious, spiced with the lust for the forbidden, shared in hidden
alleyways and back streets. Shared in nooks and crannies all over the place, as they kept
themselves away from anyone who might tell them about how impossible a relationship would
be.*



*And a relationship* would *be impossible. They both realize this. But they are happy
with keeping their affair hidden and forbidden and sweet.*



*Then:*



*Hungry kisses lead to roaming hands, and roaming hands lead to much more. More than they
planned on, more than they wanted, just what they both needed. She tells her family she found an
apartment, he tells his family nothing. She moves there and he stays there, slinking out when
they’re both sated, neither wanting the dance to end.*



*The dance must end sometime. No one likes to deal with true happiness, even if the love
behind it is a lie. Her dance ended when his father found out whom he had been spending all his
nights with. Her life became nothing more than a flash of light on a cold, wet night.*



*But it isn’t done yet.*



Thunder.



He still wished the dance could continue. Why couldn’t it? There was nothing wrong with her! He
paused in his advance, and half turned. He wanted to ask why, he wanted to rip the mask away, he
wanted to sweep her into his arms and run.



“What, boy?” His father’s voice, cold and crisp, cut through the stormy night much like a stern
judge’s gavel cut through the most unruly courtroom. Obedience was demanded by that tone, though
obedience was the last thing Draco wanted to submit to.



“I- I don’t *want*...”



“What you want has absolutely nothing to do with what is happening, Draco. Finish it.”



Draco looked back at Ginny. Tears created tiny streams down her soaked face, and her eyes were
now puffy and red. She was not beautiful, she had never been. Beauty was never part of the appeal.
She was forbidden; she was sin and stolen kisses and the thrill of the chase. She’s pleading, now,
and now she’s finished.



Lightning.



*“I don’t want this!” An exclamation.*



*“Neither do I.” A statement. Unaffected, knowing that it is nearly the end of something
beautiful.*



*“Kids aren’t much of an appeal to me- I’m the youngest, I never had to deal with it. I never
wanted to.”*



*“You don’t have to deal with it.”*



*“How could you say something like that? That’s murder!”*



*“My father always told me that he brought me into this would, and he could bring me out of it
if he damn well chose to.”*



*“Well, your father’s a psychotic bastard who should not even be mentioned in any context
concerning my baby.”*



*“So it’s your baby, now, instead of a problem?”*



*“Yes.”*



*“That’s the way it’s going to be?”*



*“It is.”*



Thunder.



His eyes flickered to her stomach. Flat, no sign of the life beneath her clothes and flesh. No
sign of the bloodline abomination that would make his father have an aneurism if he knew about. No
sign of what could be his son. No sign of what could be his daughter. No sign of what could be his
child.



The woman who would bear his child if he allowed her to live, if he saved her, let out a choked
sob. He prayed for her to remain silent, and not mention the problem that he had wanted to fix out
loud. He might not survive the night if she did.

Though, that thought was insanity. Of course he would survive the night, as long as his father
remained alive. His father was much too concerned about the bloodline to allow his only son and
heir to die over some redheaded witch.



Lighting.



*“What? Who’re... What’s happening?”* *Confusion and anger in her voice. Fear and
resentment as she screamed to be let go. Concern and resignation as she slumped in the basement.
Betrayal and fury as she recognized one of the voices.*



*“I did what you asked of me, Father.”*



*“Not exactly.”*



*A glance in her direction. She can see an emotion in his eyes, but can’t identify it.
Something unhappy, though whether it’s over his own fate or hers she cannot tell.*



*“When do you want me to?”*



*“Later.”*



*And then Lucius left with a toss of his long blond hair. She ought to be envious of those
locks, she realized, but wasn’t. She turned her attention on Draco- her love, her passion, her
executioner.*



*His next words did nothing to keep that last thought at bay.*



*“I may not have loved you, but I did like you. And sometimes, that means more.”*



*She understood, of course she did. Love was too easy. Romeo and Juliet proved that point
brilliantly. But like- that was something genuine, something that couldn’t be faked or pretended or
even truly appreciated unless you knew how deep it ran. Like was the most under appreciated of
emotions.*



Thunder.



He was standing directly in front of her now. His wand was clenched in his hand. His father
stood to one side, masked, but he knew a smirk lay on those hidden lips.



She whimpered, sobbed, and pleaded with her eyes.



He did his best to ignore her.



It wasn’t easy.



No, it was impossible.

“Go on.” Lucius’ voice. Mirth. Amusement at his own ability to manipulate his son’s weakness.
Pleasure at exposing his strength, his power over the lesser mortals in front of the other black
robed men. Nothing more than a game to him.



“I am.” Draco’s voice. Shaking. Hesitation at doing something so final. Anger at his father for
putting him in this position. Anger at himself for being weak. Grief at the loss of a friend, and
something more. Revenge forming in the back of his mind about telling his father about the child
after all was said and done.



There was nothing more to be said.



There was nothing more to be done.



He raised his wand, and looked at Ginny. She was crying, struggling in vain. She was screaming,
and looked even less lovely than she ever had. She was not planning on going gently into the good
night. She was going kicking and screaming, and fighting like a mother defending her child.



He wanted to tell her something to make it better, but had no words. At least, none that could
be spoken with an audience. He wished this could be private, at the very least, but knew that was
too much to ask for.



Two words. That was all he had to do. Speak two words with the right inflection and intent, and
he would have fulfilled his father’s wishes.



He always fulfilled his father’s wishes, even at the expense of his own dreams.



Two words and it was over.



He turned away, not wanting to see the blankness fill her once lively eyes. Not wanting to see
that slump of shoulder, twist of neck that said death. Not wanting to see his own weakness out on
display in front of everyone.



The rain had now drenched his robes, plastered his mask uncomfortably to his face.



Lightning.



*Images of her: smiling, yelling, laughing, crying. In every state of dress, and undress. In
every emotion and mood imaginable. Amazing all the tiny moments and intimacies he had forgotten,
amazing all the nuances of her behaviour he remembered.*



*And it was gone.*



*She would never again laugh at his jokes, or smile in that enticing, inviting manner. No more
eating together, no more talking together, no more sleeping together. She was gone.*



*Her face when she realized she might be pregnant. Her face when she confirmed her fears. Her
face as she stood up to him and insisted that she keep her child.*

*Her face when the masked men captured her. Her face when he looked her in the eye and
confirmed her fears. Her face as she tried to escape as he made her die.*



*Her face.*



Thunder.



Draco stared at the corpse still on display, hoping that the tears that slid down his cheeks
would be unnoticeable under the mask. Hoping his father would think that his red eyes in the
morning were a result of drinking. Hoping that this had been nothing more than a nightmare.



Hoping.



