Here With Me
I didn't hear you leave Oh I am what I am I don't want to call my friends
I wonder how am I still here
And I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory
I'll do what I want
But I can't hide
I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
Until you're resting here with me
I won't leave
I can't hide
I cannot be
Until you're resting here with me
They might wake me from this dream
And I can't leave this bed
Risk forgetting all that's been
- Dido
It had almost tore her family apart – her refusal to speak to her mother after what she had said to her, done to her, her mother's refusal to speak to either Bill and Ron for not telling her, especially Bill, Ron never wanting to see his sister because of that, Bill upset with his mother for hurting Ginny in such a way and thus, obviously torn between his mother and sister, her father in the exact same predicament.
Draco calling off the engagement and Ginny announcing that she was no longer seeing him did little to lessen the tension then. But love, a very strong undercurrent among the Weasleys, pulled them together, influencing their minds towards forgiveness. After all love and time healed all wounds. Soon there came the day when they could all sit together and have brunch as they did every Sunday, mother smiling fondly down at her brood, as a mother's heart was a deep abyss of forgiveness.
Acts of redemption helped too. Thus, it was a good six years later, that memories of their only daughter's straying love life officially seemed like a part of another life when she became engaged to Terry Boot, captain of the Puddlemere United team, second in place to Harry's Chudley Cannon in the Quidditch English Premier League.
That was whom Ginny was thinking about as she sat on the bed in the opulent hotel in Wales, still in her wet raincoat waiting for the bellman to being her suitcase to her. She had been thinking of calling Terry and informing him that she had arrived safely, via apparition.
Her suite was big, with French doors that led to the sitting room with heavily draped windows, and a mirrored entryway that seemed to double as a bar. She looked at the ivory linen pillows on the massive bed she was sitting on and thought of the waste when it only herself who would sleep there, she who no longer thought of bed as places where love or sex was offered. She closed her eyes in an attempt to relax herself.
She answered the door to the young bellman, over tipping him in compensation for the size of her suitcase. She was aware of scrutiny on his part, impartial scrutiny simply because she was a witch and a young one at that. She abandoned the suitcase in the doorway and crossed to the windows. She drew back the drapes and even the dim light of a rainy day was a shock to the gloom of the room. They were blurred buildings and the gleam of wet streets.
Three nights in one hotel room. Loneliness never really suited her, even though she spent an excessive amount of time thinking. She had long ago accepted this as a part of herself, and had let herself believe that it was a product of her profession, her art, when it was very much the other way around: the spirit sought and found the work to dissipate the discontent.
She wrote poetry, she had been told, that was accessible, a fabulous and slippery word that she took as an insult. For the raw emotions those poems were based on, were far from comprehensible. Her greatest wish was to write anonymously – something she did not mention to her publishers, as their investment in her was paying off.
Most of her collections were selling very well, for reasons no one had predicted or seemed to understand, the unexpected sales being attributed to word of mouth. She did not like to think it had anything to do with her link to Terry – after all sales had been climbing way before he had entered her life.
She leaned against the headboard of the bed, closing her eyes as she began to feel the relief hotel rooms provided: a place where no one could get to her. She had nothing to say later. She had said it all in her poems and if she had anything more to say, that was what her poems were for.
She would coast tonight, segue early into the Q&A and let the audience dictate the event. Mercifully, it would be short. She appreciated literary festivals for precisely that reason – she would be one of many novelists and poets, most of whom were better known that she was. As well known as she was in Britain, this being an international event would mean certain anonymity.
She knew she ought to examine the program before she went to the cocktail party on the theory that it sometimes helped to find an acquaintance early on so that one was not left stranded, looking both unpopular and easy prey. But if she glanced at the program, it would pull her too early into the evening and she resisted this invasion. How protective she had become of herself, as if there was something of value to protect.
Tonight she would wear the delicate diamond earrings Terry had given her with her elegant cowl necked satin black robes. She would paste a smile on her face and walk into the room with her chin tilted up in a proud and elegant manner – rituals she had learnt as the fiancé of the dashing, talented, rich, international quidditch star Terry Boot. He was after all the only reason why she continued to present herself to the world
The party was in a room reserved for such occasions, with bland music playing and unrecognizable faces, disconcerting Ginny completely. There were perhaps twenty-five people in the suite when she arrived, most drinking and already bonded in clusters, talking. Along one wall, a table had been laid with hors d'oeuvres of a conventional sort.
She walked to bar and asked for some Gillywater. A woman said her name, and Ginny turned to an outstretched hand that belonged to a slight woman dressed in a woolen suit, the colour of irises.
"I'm Susan Sefton, one of the organizers of the Festival. I am such a fan and I wanted to thank you for coming."
"Oh, thank you," Ginny said, "I'm looking forward to it," She lied.
A burly man walked over, muttering something about the reservations that had been made at the French restaurant they were supposed to go to for dinner. Susan flashed her another feral smile and moved off. Ginny drifted to the food table, assaulted with a sudden hunger. She had not had a proper meal since dinner yesterday back at her apartment, whipped up by Luna who had been on her way out, for supper at Harry's place.
She reached for a small paper plate – the management did not provide for large appetites- and heard the hush before she understood it, a mild hush as if someone had lowered the volume a notch or two. From the corner, she heard a whispered name. It could not be, she thought, even as she understood it could. She turned to see the source of the reverential quiet.
Those people who warned that you could not run away because your past would track you down might be right on their target. There, between herself and the doorway was a reprise of another time, a time of sweet young fresh love.
He stood in the doorway, his fine rich black robes billowing about him. His blonde hair having turned a premature grayish white, reaching the nape of his neck, covering his ears, an attractive rumpled mess.
His eyes were as stormy gray as ever but there were deep lines etched in his face that he was still too young to possess. It showed that he has not had an easy life and displayed a great deal of loneliness. He looked more masculine that she could ever remember, awakening a strange, long forgotten feeling in the pit of her abdomen, like a curled up cat stretching. He looked as wealthy and sophisticated as ever but this time; Ginny knew it was his own well-earned wealth.
In the past six years, she had only seen him on the papers, in articles about his efforts in expanding the Malfoy business. Right now, at this very second, Malfoy Creatiions (the name of his company) was monopolizing the wizarding business in Europe and expanding to other areas like media, and were even rumored to be in talks of buying a quidditch team. He was one of the richest wizards in the wizarding world, not because of his father, or dark arts or bribery but because of his sheer hard work.
She turned around, unwilling to be the first person he saw in the room. They were other greetings now, a balloon of quiet but intense attention. She stood immobile, plate in hand, breathing in a tight controlled manner. She raised her hand slowly to her hair and tucked a stray strand behind her ear.
She rubbed her temple softly with her finger. She picked up a cracker and tried to butter it with a crumbly cheese but the cracker broke, disintegrating between her fingers. She examined a fruit bowl of strawberries and grapes, the latter having gone brown at the edges.
Someone said, too unctuously, "Let me get you a drink. Another crowed, "I'm so pleased you could make it, Mr. Malfoy. Your support for this event has been tremendous and your presence amplifies this." Still others murmured, "You cannot know," and "I am such."
It was nothing she told herself as she reached for a glass of water. Years had passed and all of life was different now. She could feel him moving towards her. How awful that after all this time, she and he would have to greet in front of strangers.
"Virginia." His voice knocked Ginny a loop.
She felt as if she was walking into something she could not control. Ginny tilted her head up to look at his face for he was taller than she remembered. His gray eyes were soft and blinking, his face a picture of immaculate nonchalance.
"Hello, Draco," She said, his name just as unique as her own but his having the weight of history.
He was wearing gloves of silky suede, and fine muggle snakeskin boots that was becoming all the rage in Paris. His hair fell forward onto his forehead and he brushed it away easily. She watched him take her in, she who would be seen to have grown into someone she was not.
"This is very strange." He said.
"They are wondering about us already."
"It's comforting to think we might provide a story." The hint of sardonic humor in his voice made her smile – Malfoy confidence swaggering on the border of arrogance and it was well deserved and well earned.
"I've followed your career."
"What there's been of it."
"You've done well." He said. Ginny cursed the rise of color in her cheeks.
The others moved away from them, conferring about his knowing her. A drink appeared for Draco, who took it and said thank you, disappointing the bearer who hoped for conversation.
"I haven't attended this through out all the years the company sponsored it," He began and stopped.
She did not want to think that he was there because of her. "You like poetry?" She asked.
"Always have." He answered. Another of the many things she did not know about him- a reassuring reason why they would never have worked out.
'When are you reading?"
"Tonight." She answered.
"You got here today?" He asked.
"Just."
"You've come from?" He asked, each question seemingly written in a code she could not decipher.
"London."
A man hovered near Draco's elbow, waiting for admission. Ginny could not figure out what all these poets and novelists would want to say to Draco, a businessman at that. Perhaps it was the concept of mingling with the rich and famous.
"Tell me something," Draco said, ignoring the man beside him and leaning forward so that only she could hear, "did you become a poet because of me?"
She felt something wrong in her fingers and toes that was a whole lot like the edge of panic. It was panic, she was feeling, that much she was certain, and it was creeping along her spine, spreading into her veins, moving towards her vital organs. The blood was fast draining from her face. She was seeing spots before her eyes and every spot was red, hot as cider. Draco Malfoy just did not let go. He had to come back.
Draco leaned down toward Ginny. "Are you okay? He asked, although he knew from past experience that she was the kind of woman who would not tell you right away if something was wrong.
"I'm going to the washroom," Ginny said causally as if she were not about to collapse.
She turned away from him. The man beside Draco would not go away. Behind him there were others who wanted introductions to the reclusive millionaire wizard. She excused herself and moved through all the admirers and sycophants, who were, of course, not interested in her. This was nothing, she told herself again as she reached the door. Years had passed, and all of life was different now.
As she emerged from the washroom, she was filled with a consuming need to talk to Terry. She wanted to talk with him alone. She wanted him to tell her that she was the exact same woman she was when she had kissed him goodbye that morning at the apparition point.
She wanted to hear him say it out loud, because at the moment, standing there in the hotel lobby, she did not feel the same. If she were not such a rational creature, she would think the night air was calling to her. Her heart was beating in a different rhythm here, a faster, and a dangerous pace.
Terry had met her on one of her poetry book readings at Three Broomsticks, three years ago when she was beginning to forget and forgive and move on with her life. He was at the right place and at the right time. With his winsome smile, bright blue eyes and dark brown hair, he convinced her to have a drink with him after her reading.
Then after exchanging letters for a few week, he turned up at her apartment with two box office tickets to one of his games – one for herself and Luna, since he would be playing. It was then she began to consider him seriously, consider the fact that he was smitten with her and had a good heart.
Terry was polishing his dragonbolt, the latest designs by Malfoy Creatiions, in his living room, his thin, angular frame relaxed when the flames in his fireplace turned green and Ginny's head appeared.
"I'm so glad you're there." Ginny sighed.
Terry had a busy life. They both often joked that he was married to quidditch and she was merely his mistress – something that was closer to the truth than the either of them liked to admit.
Terry laughed, kneeling in front of the fire. "Well, I can't say the same for you."
"It's awful here," Ginny grimaced, "That's for sure."
"Poor baby, I miss you, over here." Terry gave her one of his puppy dog looks that made her laugh.
"I've got to go, I'll talk to you soon." Ginny straightened up, realizing that she had a few minutes to freshen up before heading back to the front of the hotel where they'll be taken to a French bistro called Le Matin.
Upon reaching the lobby, Ginny realized she was later than she thought because the bus had left. She hailed a cab to the restaurant. Susan was at the entrance, as if waiting for her. A smile crossed her face.
"Ginny, go on in there, everyone else is already having dinner." She opened the door for her, before going back to wait outside for something or someone else. The entire place was reserved for the event. Feeling incredibly thirsty, Ginny made her way to the bar, excusing herself politely. She grabbed a stool and sat down to look around.
"What'll you have ma'am?" The roguishly handsome bartender flashed her a smile.
"Red wine." Ginny grinned, feeling a tad relieved. There seemed to be no sign of Draco.
"Hello, a Weasley I presume?" Ginny glanced at the pretty blonde girl who was addressing her, her voice laced with a barely noticeable French accent.
Ginny recognized her instantly, having been bridesmaids with her for Bill's wedding. "Michelle Delacour! How dare you be so polite!" Ginny crowed, thoroughly glad at having found a familiar face. She had conveniently forgotten that her sister-in-law was a novelist.
Michelle was one of the most understanding and generous spirited people Ginny had ever known. Anyone who could put up with Ginny's stubborn streak and mood swings, had to be a saint. For Ginny had not been in entirely good spirits during rehearsals for Bill's wedding and even on the actual day itself, due to tensions within her family and the fact that she had oh-so recently ended it with Draco.
Those had been one of the worst times of her life. The only thing that had made her remotely calm was staying up in her bedroom at her apartment, writing and writing endless pages of poetry. She had even quit her job, seeing no worthy purpose in doing anything except penning poems. It was true, that she became a poet because of him and that he had so shrewdly discerned so made her feel more vulnerable than she cared to.
"Heard Malfoy's here." Michelle murmured, knowing full well about the entire affair between Draco and Ginny, thanks to one of the hysterical outbursts she had witnessed when she and Luna had attempted to drag Ginny out of the apartment, and to Cauldron Inn where everyone was gathered for a pre-wedding rehearsal lunch.
"He was there at the room, but he's not here." Ginny said, confidently sipping her wine, feeling much better in the reassuring company of gentle, sweet Michelle.
"Oh, yes he is." Michelled nodded to a corner, "He's right there."
Be careful what you wished for, her mother used to say all the time but it seemed that Ginny had already decided not to be careful, not tonight at least.
"At the last table."
Draco had his chair propped up against the wall, and although they were five other distinguished looking men sharing the table, he did not appear to be in the same universe. Certainly, he was not listening to them. He had been watching Ginny Weasley ever since she walked through the door.
Ginny turned over so quickly that she knocked over her glass, and then had to wipe the spilled wine with a cocktail napkin.
"It's not too late to leave," Michelle suggested, half-heartedly.
She liked Draco, having worked with him on his broom designs for a few months when she had been into designing. She always thought he would do Ginny a whole world of good than Terry ever would but it was not in her position to say. It was Ginny's decision to live with and besides; she was already a taken woman.
Ginny would have not have missed him if he had not been pointed out to her. She would have seen him sooner or later since the difference between him and other men was clearly visible. The difference was that the air around him seemed charged, perhaps with anger, or heat and light. The difference was the way he could look at someone, the way he was staring at her right now. One look from him was more substantial than the wooden bar she was leaning her elbows upon, realer than the pull of fabric as Michelle tugged on her shawl.
"Let's move over, near to the band." She murmured, pointing to the other corner of the room where there were unoccupied tables and a live band playing soft, melodious music.
At the moment, Ginny did not need much convincing. She was shaking, from the sheer pressure of all those memories, she really was. She was putting something on the line and she was frightened by her own actions. As they made their way to the unoccupied tables, another famous novelist waylaid Michelle. Ginny looked back at the far end of the room where Draco had been sitting. But he was not there and the effect of his absence was that her heart dropped into her stomach, where it stayed until she released he was walking right to her.
It was sometimes possible to look at a person and see inside, although this happened so rarely it was always a shock, like a form of electricity traveling from one soul to another. It could only be glimpsed for an instant, but in that instant you could see the core of a person, even in the middle of a rather crowded restaurant, as he came up beside you, while the band played an old sixties jazz song you have never head before and would never forget.
It happened so quickly – seeing all that hurt and disappointment – it was as fast as breath drawn and released. Just as fast he closed up, you could not get inside Draco for anything now. Not with a hammer or a chisel, not even with begging on your knees. That was the way Draco had lived his life the past six years, until now, until he laid eyes on the only woman who could make him open up, make him cry.
"I thought you weren't going to make it." Draco looked down at her, a lump forming in his throat from just looking at her. He was already thinking about things they could do if the two of them were alone in a room.
"I nearly wasn't.." It took everything she had to keep her nerve and look at Draco. He looked right back at her, so she quickly lowered her gaze to the floor. You had to be extremely careful when you looked in to eyes like his, she realized and remembered.
Draco looked into her eyes and saw himself upside down. He found himself in a pool of golden brown light, drowning, going down for the second time and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
"I didn't mean to upset you...just now."
"You didn't upset me..You just surprised me." She stated, her voice faltering at his mere closeness.
"So what's for dinner?" She asked, an attempt at casual small talk. In a predicament such as this, it was best to appear normal. Do not give up anything. Do not let them know what you felt deep inside
"An ala Carte menu. Hello, Michelle." Draco smiled, a smile that softened his classic chiseled face as he bend down to kiss the young woman on her cheek. She beamed up at him.
Ginny watched them, surprised that they knew each other. "I didn't know you knew each other.."
"Work – I had to design the broom for his company." Michelle explained.
Draco nodded, making a face, "She has horrid taste. That's why we hired her." He mocked. Michelle swatted his arm, rolling her eyes. Ginny looked a tad taken aback by this lighthearted display of camaraderie between the both of them.
"Well, I don't know about you two but I really do not like standing for more than five minutes." Michelle announced, nodding towards the tables by the band.
Ginny nodded, following her, hoping that Draco was not at their heels. Unfortunately he was. He sensed Ginny's discomfort but he wanted to be near her. He could not help it. As he watched her, a fierce longing seized him but he forced himself to calm down.
He wished he could grab her and kiss her, at least until she gave in. He would like to make love to her right there, he would like to do it all night and not give a damn about anything else, and not listen if she resisted. He knew better though.
Instead he pulled the chair out for her before sitting down across from her. Michelle sat between the both of them, waving at waiter that was sprinting by, for the menus. While waiting for the food, there was an awkward lull in the conversation.
"Lightning quick smoke gone in a flash," Draco spoke distinctly, but there was in his voice, which was somewhat louder than it had been, the barest suggestion of excitement. At the next table, a few people turned to look at them.
Ginny sipped at her wine, avoiding the curious look in Michelle's eyes before saying, "The image, the visage of hope; Down to hysterical tethers…"
Draco could not leave it at there, even though that was the end of the second last stanza. "Branches entwined in spirit of day; Hopelessness filling the fill."
Ginny looked at Draco, then at Michelle. "Gone in the all and the nothing," She said quietly, "Gone away 'tis all."
"One of your poems, right?" Michelle asked, in an attempt to diffuse the tension. Ginny nodded.
"Poems For The Devil." Draco muttered the title of her first poetry collection, his eyes fixed on Ginny who looked unhealthily flushed.
She could not take this anymore, could not bear a second longer. She wanted to scream, to curse herself, her weakness for him and curse him for coming back into her life, for remembering her poems by heart, poems that she had written with him as her muse. Oh Merlin, the daft irony of it all!
"Virginia," He said and his voice caused her more anguish that she could ever have imagined possible.
"What is it?" Her voice sounded bitter and cruel, tinged with exasperation but she did not care. She wanted to see that wounded look on his face, for hurting her all those year ago and now, turning up in her life as if nothing had changed.
Draco shot a pleading look at Michelle who promptly took it as a cue to excuse herself from the table for a moment. Draco glanced back at Ginny who looked as if her entire world had been upended. She looked just as beautiful as ever, more so than he remembered.
He held her curious and wary gaze and began to speak, "I just want-"
"Draco, I'm getting married." She blurted out, cutting him off.
Ginny did not want to hear what he really wanted, for a fearfully familiar feeling had resurfaced in her, something like anticipation that was akin to longing. He glanced away from her, the pain in his eyes so fleeting she barely noticed.
Then he looked back at her, a wistful smile gracing his lips. "I've always imagined you getting married on a hill top."
"Who's the groom?" Ginny asked, without thinking.
"You haven't decided yet." He stared at her, drinking every feature of hers in, till a blush crept up into her face, tinting the apples of her cheek.
Then he seemed to regain himself, for he straightened his posture, a keen earnest look on his face, "What I really want is for us to be friends – that's least we owe ourselves, after what we had..."
Ginny could not believe what she has just heard. She was so caught up in her disbelief that she forgot to get angry with him for suggesting such a far-off solution to the palpable tension and negative vibes that hung between them. The Draco she had known, the nineteen year old boy she had been in love with, under these circumstances, would have either given her the cold shoulder or insisted they get back together.
This Draco, this man, seemed more forgiving, wiser and there was certain stability to the aura of power radiating off him. He seemed surer of himself, who he was and his place in the world. Such was age and maturity, Ginny mused.
"You're different..." She thought aloud.
Draco looked bemused. "Good different or bad different?" He teased lightheartedly, as the waiter arrived with their food.
"That's subjective, innit?" Ginny cocked an eyebrow at him.
Was she flirting with him? She wondered inwardly, horrified with herself. That was when the all too familiar flip flopping of her heart began, just like how it did all those years back, when he told her that he was the one who had given her that invisibility cloak. She could feel the tightness inside her throat and her belly and her chest. She felt as if she could end up on the floor unconscious any moment, her blood boiling, her brain grilled like the succulent salmon on her plate.
Draco flashed her a smile, one of those trademark Malfoy grins that helped him get his way more than he liked to give it credit.
"Finally," He exclaimed when Michelle slid back into her seat. "Your food was going to get cold." Draco chided her.
She exchanged a pointed look with Ginny. "Yes, father." She dug into her steak with flourish.
"More like Draco was going to take your steak if you hadn't returned soon enough." Ginny commented, perceptively.
Draco bit back a smile while Michelle glanced at the both of them, a look of mild surprise on her face. The air had definitely cleared up between these two.
The rest of dinner had been relatively uneventful with Michelle's incessant chatter filling in the rare awkward moments. Ginny seemed to have come to the conclusion that Draco meant no harm, though he could tell that his mere presence unsettled her more than his actions.
He, however, was unclear of his own intentions. He had not had an idea that she would be one of the poets here, till that morning when he had arrived and been given the program. He had decided to attend this event because the thought of spending another lonely weekend at the Mansion nearly killed him.
He could have any woman he wanted, not to say he had not but they had been few and were all meaningless flings. One witch had actually told him straight in his face that she could not give him what he was looking for no one else could except the girl he was besotted with – it was that obvious. Lately, Draco found that he would rather be by himself than with some random woman.
As he had told Blaise, his company's regional director, he seriously had no interest in investing time in any woman at the moment. To which, the dark haired, blue eyed Slytherin with the playboy streak had stared at him in complete bewilderment and said, "What are you - dead?"
But Draco was far from dead. As devastated he was at first, he still continued to love Ginny all these years. He had never loved anyone else, and he never would.
Greatness was always born out of love, nothing else and Draco of all people knew this. His success, his vision, his ambition was only fueled by one thing – love.
He had made the biggest mistake by letting her go, a mistake he could not possibly correct. But he just could not give up his love for her – that he assumed was his punishment – having to wake up every morning without her by his side, her hair in his face, her warmth surrounding him.
He had wanted to make himself a better person; at first to win her back. But as the years passed he realized the impossibility of it and bore the seemingly permanent shroud of guilt, desire and rejection resignedly. Now, when he saw her, he realized that he could never let her go and if he could not have her the way he very much desired, he would just have to make do with what he had.
He had even attended her poetry reading - sitting in one of the last rows of seats in the Red Wing Hall, watching Ginny on stage, reading her poems. There had been a good turnout, considering that her reading had taken place at nine-thirty - most people with tickets to the festival would be ready to go home by that time. Also there was the fact that there were other authors at three other separate venues conducting their readings at the same time. The last he saw of her that night was when he was sitting in the lobby waiting for an important business floo call – she had been waiting for the elevator, looking exhausted.
Now as Draco lay on the bed in his special executive suite, he felt his life was unwinding, coming to a grinding halt – all that self imposed exile from high society, all his hard work, his numerous successful businesses and investments meant nothing to him when he could not have what he most wanted. He was a destitute, the poorest man in the world, that was exactly how he felt.
For a brief moment, he wished he could speak to Bill Weasley and ask his advice. It was ironic that he and Bill had become friends of sort through their work together – Bill having been made his financial advisor upon the insistence of one of the senior directors at Gringotts due to his excellent investment skills and financial shrewdness.
Draco, being the quintessential businessman, put aside any hard feelings and the memories of the not so distant past and accepted him. Bill seemed to share the same perspective, initially at least. After numerous consultation sessions and successful investments made by the Malfoy Creatiions, an almost friendly camaraderie developed between them borne from mutual respect for each other.
Draco knew that Bill never mentioned their friendship, let alone their working relationship to anyone of the Weasleys, not even Ginny for fear of stirring up painful memories of the past. It was Bill who told him about Ginny's engagement to Terry, wanting to save his newfound friend the pain of finding it out the hard way: through pictures in the society pages.
That was the first time they spoke of Ginny. Soon after Draco began to open up and he actually told Bill about how it had all begun. The older man had told him to move on with life and let it be, for there was nothing neither of them could do about it. That was probably what he would tell him now as well Draco realized sadly. Move on and let it be.
The next morning found Draco outside Michelle's room door. He knocked at the door a few times before he heard the customary click of the doorknob turning.
Ginny looked up at surprise, as he stared down at her with the exact same expression on his face.
Draco was not so surprised to find Ginny in Michelle's room. He presumed that she had grown lonely and wanted to bunk with her, as most females who were good friends tended to do. What surprised him was how she looked, without any jewellery or fancy dress, obviously having just gotten out of bed.
Ginny's hair had slipped out of her rubber band, framing her face in tousled waves. The huge quidditch t-shirt she was wearing hung off her shoulders, exposing her creamy petite shoulders. The t-shirt grazed her mid thighs, her slender legs a sight to behold. She had certainly grown, into a petite, slender women with curves in all he right places. She was beautiful all right, at least in Draco's estimation.
Ginny took two steps back at the look on his face. She could not believe the way he was looking at her, even after all this time. It was Michelle who broke the moment, coming up from behind Ginny, a puzzled look on her face, clad in pyjamas.
"Draco! What brings you here at this ungodly hour?"
He held up the book in his hand, "I wanted to return the novel you lent me." He spoke to Michelle, averting his gaze from Ginny.
"Thanks. How did you find it?" Michelle asked, taking the book.
Ginny moved away then, wanting to get away from Draco before she lost her mind completely and forgot whom Terry Boot was. How could they ever be friends when he made her feel the way she did now? She headed for the couch in the bedroom she had spent the night on.
She sat down, putting her head between her knees because she felt seriously light headed. How was it possible for a single person to evoke so many different emotions in her – regret, longing, desire, anger, hate, pain, misery. Suddenly, she had to get out, get away from all this, and be by herself for just a while. She had no particular event to attend today. Not many people would notice her absence.
"Hey, Gin, Draco asked if we want to go down for breakfast together." Michelle called out, as she walked into the bedroom.
Ginny stood up, her legs shaky, her face pale. She wondered if she had circles under her eyes from the sleeplessness last night. The last time she had been like this was when they had ended it – it seemed as if nothing had changed.
She shook her head at Michelle, before finding her voice, "I don't think so, Michelle. I thought of wandering around town a bit, by myself, just have a look around…" She trailed off, hoping Michelle would not stop her.
It must have been the pleading look on her face forMicelle relented. As Ginny prepared to go back to her own room, she could hear Michelle telling Draco that she would meet him for breakfast downstairs and that Ginny could not make it because she had other plans. Ginny promised Michelle that she would be back by lunch but she knew she was lying.
At first it had been all right. She had even felt a certain relief from being away from it all. It was fun to walk around Wales' version of Diagon Alley. Here they called it 'Hull Town' for some strange reason. She convinced herself that she was actually enjoying herself. She even bought some souvenirs for Travis, Ron and Hermione's one year old son and some of her other nephews and nieces.
Then, in the afternoon, it began to rain. She had forgotten her umbrella and the rain soaked her hair, gluing it to her head. It ran down her neck, her back and the front of her blouse. It was possible that was when she began to cry, salty tears mingling with the rainwater on her face.
Ginny always thought that she had cried all the tears she ever had over Draco all those years ago, but it turned out she had been wrong. There was more hurt left in her. She thought about the way he looked at her and she cried even harder. She remembered the way it felt to fall asleep in his arms, a vague but distinctly vivid memory and tears leaked out of her eyes even more.
She had no destination, no idea where she was walking. All her thoughts were centered on one person. She remembered the name of the hotel, but she did not want to go there, did not want to be in the same building as him, did not want to be alone in her room. She felt briefly sorry for herself and thought in addition to everything else, she would doubtlessly get a cold.
It was Luna's theory that if one cried in public one would catch a cold. It was not so much retribution for display of emotion as it was the irritation of mucous membranes in the presence of foreign germs. Ginny felt momentarily homesick for Luna, would have liked a glimpse of her friend departing for work in her Healer's white robes, would have liked her special cup of tea.
Ginny marveled at the umbrella she had bought and deeply appreciated the anonymity it provided. If she watched the feet around her carefully, she could hide her face from people as they passed. They were bound to be people who recognized her, since she was still in the magical district and her face had become pasted all over magazines thanks to Terry and her own books.
She walked until she found a park. The rain was letting up some, merely a drizzle now. She walked to a black bench and sat down. She was sitting next to a circular rose garden. It did not have white roses, like the ones Draco had given her, as a token of his love for her.
The rain stopped altogether and she put the umbrella on the bench. She stuck her frozen hands unto the pockets of her coat. She would have to recast all her memories now, push them back into the back of her mind where they had been locked up all this time.
She must have fallen asleep – a dangerous thing to do in a public park all-alone. Then again, Ginny had no sense of anything, let alone what was dangerous or what was not. When she woke, she could see halos on streetlamps in the distance, and a couple running across the street. The rain had started again.
The couple had on long raincoats and the young woman wore heels. They kept their chins tucked against the rain. The man had his one arm around the woman's shoulder, urging her forward through the rain. Ginny wondered if she and Draco would have done that if they were still together. They probably would have. They would have gone for dinner, or to a pub, or to theatre, or to a party with other people.
She walked until she saw from a distance, the discreet marquee, a façade she recognized. The hotel was quiet when she entered. As she walked to the elevators, her clothes felt heavy and sodden. She was enormously relieved that she could remember her room number. As she put the key in the lock, Draco emerged from the room down the hall.
"Holy Merlin," He said, looking at her in the dimly lit hallway.
She briefly wondered how he had known that she had returned, and then figured that he must have put one of those newly discovered alarm charms on her door to find out.
His brow was furrowed, "Michelle was out of her mind wondering what happened to you." He said.
She blinked at him, pushing her hair off her face. Hurt rising to her throat like bile, "Were you worried?" She asked, impulsively. But then again, Ginny had already taken complete leave of her senses.
He ignored her question. "Do you know what time it is?" He asked. There was genuine concern in his voice, one that made him sound like a parent with an errant child. How immature she must seem to him, Ginny mused detachedly.
"It's one o'clock in the morning." He informed her.
She opened her door and walked in. She felt, rather than heard, Draco come in behind her.
"You look like hell." He stated as she let her coat fall from her shoulders. She slipped off her shoes, which had lost their shape and color.
He pulled out a chair from the desk, "Sit down." He said.
She did as she was told. He sat on the couch, facing her, their knees touching. He looked a different man from that morning, drawn, exhausted, the eyes lined and so much older. She imagined that she too had aged considerably.
He took her hands in his – their first physical contact. Ginny felt as though someone has tugged at a thread and was unraveling her. She felt loose, loose limbed and opened up.
"Where did you go?" He asked.
"I went shopping, then walked and walked." She paused and then, "Where's Michelle?" She asked.
"Sleeping. I managed to convince her that I'd take care of you."
I'd take care of you – the words had a nice ring to it, Ginny realized.
"I think I'm hungry." She said.
Draco stood up. "Get into a hot bath and I'll floo for some food. You want a drink as well?"
"No, thanks. Just something to eat. You're being very parental."
"Virginia, please."
She stood up, and then faltered. She felt lightheaded. He stepped forward and she pressed her forehead against his robes.
"All those years…" She whispered.
"Shhhh…"
"Draco, all those time.." He pulled her closer, trying to comfort her.
"All those times we made love, we talked, and we did things. I can remember them.."
"It's okay." Though Draco knew it was far from okay. Seeing Ginny like this made him want to tear his heart out and throw it away.
"It's not okay. I loved you. You…." She trailed off, realizing that she still did not know if he had loved her – he had never said it then – those three words 'I love you' had never come from his lips. "Did you?" She sensed a quick change in his breathing, like a hiccup. She drew away and saw that he looked drained. He rubbed his eyes.
"I'll take my bath now….I shouldn't have said all that. I'm sorry."
He put up a hand as if to tell her she need not apologize. "Don't apologize, please."
"You can leave. I'll be fine."
She saw that he doubted she would be fine.
"I'll order the food first."
In the end, he told her. He had not had the heart to leave her that night, in such a vulnerable and broken state. He saw for the first time the damage he had unwittingly inflicted upon her and decided to stay with her, ease his conscience a bit at least. He watched her eat, gave her brandy to make her warm and even tucked her into bed. That was when she told him not to leave her, not tonight at least.
In the dark lying on her bed, she spoke first, telling him everything about the past six years of her life. He listened without saying much, murmuring here and there, once or twice asking a question. She wore the terrycloth hotel robe, and he stayed dressed. He trailed his fingers up and down her arm as she spoke.
When they grew chilly, he pulled a comforter over them. She burrowed her head into the space between his chest and arm. In the dark, she felt the familiar warmth of his body, heard his breathing next to her and nothing had ever felt so right.
"I want you to know that you were the only one, Draco, the only one I was ever really intimate with." She told him, her words slurring slightly with the onslaught with sleep. "You don't have to tell me the same thing. I understand."
All Draco said was, "I did worry about you today."
Ginny was silent for a while. Draco thought she had fallen asleep but then her voice broke the quietness of the air, "You did love me.."
Draco did not know how to lie to her then, her face upturned towards his, eyes shining with hope and anticipation. "I did.."
"Even when you said you didn't."
Draco nodded.
"Even when you said you hated me."
"You can only hate someone you care enough about to hate." He muttered wisely.
Ginny thought they might be something else that she wanted to say but before she could form the words she drifted off to a dreamless slumber.
A/N note
I already mentioned in earlier author's note that since I started this story using Virginia as the formal version of Ginny's name, I will stick to it even though halfway through the story I found her name actually is short form for Ginevra/Ginerva (I forgot which). So if you check on my other DG fics that I started or wrote recently, you will see that I do not use Virginia.
I had written this chapter quite some time ago but after this I am really stuck. My next update will take a lot longer because I have to decide what I want to write in it. I think this story has potential – I just have to bring it around to have the makings of some sort of epic love saga. Wish me luck.
Disclaimer - whatever you see and recognise is NOT MINE
Thanks for all your reviews, especially those readers who faithfully read and reviewed this fic and my other fics and never gave up on this fic of this fanfic author.