Chapter 23:

"So sport, what do we say we figure something else to occupy us?"

Brock said sitting next to Draco on the Slytherin Common Room couch.

He had been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes and Draco had barely uttered a word to him. It was quite unnerving. There was no one else in the school he had considered enough of his equal to talk and scheme with. And now, Malfoy had turned almost vacant. He apparently hadn't slept that night when that Weasley girl had left the common room in tears.

When she practically scuttled out of the room (like the little Weasel she was), Draco had gone into a rage, slamming books and chairs and everything he could get hold of around the room. And when he finally set his eyes on Brock those eyes burning with fire, blazing with anger, it would be under-exaggerated to say that Brock was terrified. Draco, in a manner Brock had never seen before - and never wanted to see-, had violently pushed him against the wall, and wrapped his cold pale hands around his neck, tighter and tighter, until he could hardly breathe. And the look in Draco's eyes was one of cold blooded murder. It was only by a miracle that Brock was able to utter the words that possibly saved his life,

"Come on man, it's all a game, yeah? Not like you love her or anything-"

And he could talk no more, because at those last words Draco had tightened his grip even firmer on his air way. But only for a moment. Because then a far-away look came into his eyes, and slowly he let go of Brock and made his way to the couch, where he sat with his elbows on his knees, looking straight ahead. He ran his hand through his hair. Then again. And again. And that was how he had stayed for the whole night, Brock imagined. Because now, many hours later, the next morning, he still sat, still with his elbows on his knees, still running his hand through his hair, still looking straight ahead, and still with that vacant look in his eyes. He was worried, that was why he came up to him in an attempt to get him to talk to him. But still Draco said nothing.

"Come on old boy. You're not still mad at me over that little thing last night, are you?"

Draco shook his head. Who could he be mad at? At Brock, for suggesting the bet in the first place? For trying everything he could to keep him from winning? And for being such a bad loser that he had ruined the only thing that he had cherished at that moment, the only thing he could think of? No. He felt anger at what Brock had done. But he could not be angry at him. Because he was the one who had agreed to the bet. He was the one that had rubbed it in Brock's face that he had won. He was the one who collected his prize. And if he had been Brock, he would have been just as spiteful and revengeful as the Slytherin had been.

At Ginny? For playing with his heart? For telling him she loved him one moment and that he meant nothing the next? At making him feel that his happiness was no longer up to him but that it depended entirely on what she thought of him? He couldn't. Because he had played with her heart as well. Because she had been more honest with him than he had been with her. Because his happiness did depend on what she thought of him.

He had no one to blame but himself. Because he had been in denial of his love for her until it was too late. And that had made him miserable. That was why he deserved to suffer. No one was to blame but himself.

And he only realized how horrible his life would have been from there out, at what Brock had said that night, Come on man, it's all a game, yeah? Not like you love her or anything. No, it wasn't just a game to him. Because he did love her. He loved her. So why had he done the things that he did? Why had he sealed his fate, secured his misery?

And the thought hit him; maybe he could undo what he had done. Maybe he should talk to Ginny and finally come clean. Finally tell her just how much he loved her, without any bets depending on it, without his ego getting in the way. He would only talk with his heart. And that would be all true.

And immediately he hurriedly got up, much to Brock's amazement, and dashed outside racing to the Gryffindor dormitories. All the students who saw him stopped in bewilderment at a sight they had never seen before: A Draco Malfoy, his shirt sloppily tucked in his trousers, his sleeves untidily rolled up to his elbow, his hair ruffled and unkempt, and, if he had slowed his pace they would have seen his morning shadow slowly creeping up.

"Fat Lady," Draco panted.

"I beg your pardon? Who are you? I've never seen you before."

"Fat Lady," he tried to catch his breath.

"Listen, young man, I have already told the others that this fat lady business has got to stop. It's a new age now, and I would rather not be named by my disability. It's not my fault I'm fat you know!"

He held his hands up to stop her ranting while he caught his breath. "Please"

He begged,

"Please can I go through?"

"Well of course. What's the password?"

Draco looked up, hopelessness in his eyes, his brain working fervently to try to think up a password.

"Why… you don't know the password, do you?"

"No, No Fa- er… ma'm."

"Who are you? Why, with your blonde hair and your almost grey eyes… why I would swear you're … You're not a- a Malfoy are you?"

He sighed at her reaction to his heritage, one he had been so proud of, but still so secretly ashamed.

"Please listen-"

She gasped, "You are! You are! You're a Slytherin! And worse a,"

She made a disgusted face before dramatically adding,

"MALFOY."

"Please, I just want to get through-"

"Oh you most certainly cannot! This is Gryffindor area and I would never let a Malfoy in - even WITH the password."

His heart sunk, his eyes fell, and he slumped to the ground, exhausted from lack of sleep and his panicked run.

"Well young man! Get away from here!"

He put his head in his hands and spoke, muffled, "I can't."

"Why not? What mischief can you be up to?"

"I-I'm not up to mischief." He sighed. "I need to see someone."

"Are you alright? You look ill."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Well then. That's what I get for helping a Malfoy. Suit yourself. Sit here all day if you want."

And, he knew, that was the only thing he had to do. What seemed like an eternity later, Draco heard voices from behind the Gryffindor door, and then the click to signal its opening. Abruptly he stood up, anxiously putting his hands into his pocket through nervousness. And then all chattering stopped and he came face to face with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Malfoy," Ron snarled.

Draco ran his hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. He said nothing.

"Hermione told us what you did to Ginny," Harry told him.

He looked from Harry to Hermione, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, she told us what she thinks you did."

"Why don't you tell her what you did, you pathetic bastard,"

Draco muttered rubbing irritated at stubble.

"What?" Ron said.

"Speak up Malfoy, or are you afraid?"

Again Draco rubbed at his morning shadow, annoyed at the conversation having going on that long.

"Potter, do you know where she is?"

Harry shut his mouth at the realization that he didn't know where Ginny was. She refused to see him, and told both Ron and Hermione that she didn't want him to know of her whereabouts.

Ron butted in,

"Well I'll let you know one thing, Malfoy. She most certainly doesn't want to see you."

Draco bit on his lip, he was way too exhausted to have argued today, and with everything he had done, he would think Ron would be telling the absolute truth. He sat down again, next to the fat lady.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

"Waiting," he replied.

"Well enjoy, you'll be there for awhile."

And they began to walk away. But Hermione stopped and turned around.

"Are you alright Malfoy? You look ill."

"I'm fine Granger," he muttered, "I'm fine."

But the truth was he wasn't. He had never felt worse.

XX

He left the entrance of the Gryffindor common room at 1 a.m. when Snape had finally come across him after what he said was a long and tedious search. Ginny had never come out. And he had never slept.

When he entered his room he dropped onto his bed, and willed himself to sleep. But all he could see where images of Ginny, her tear stained face circling around in his mind. And when he fell asleep, all he dreamt of was that night when the bet had been revealed.

XX

The next day, he was driven out of his sleep by images of Ginny at five in the morning. With much effort he dragged himself out of bed, showered, got dressed, and finally had a good shave. But he wasted no time. And as soon as he was presentable he walked straight back to the Gryffindor entrance.

He cleared his throat,

"Erhm… Miss Fat lady"

She was asleep.

"Er… Miss Fat Lady?"

She began to snore. Frustrated, he tried one last time

"Fat Lady!" he screamed in a whisper.

"What?" She woke up and set her eyes on him. "Oh it's you. What have I said about calling me Fat?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh now dear child, what is wrong with you? Look, you really do not look well. Maybe you should smile a little more. How about going up to see Madame Pomfrey hmmm?"

"Please, ma'm, would you just let me through?"

Her eyes narrowed, "What do you want in there?"

"I just want to see someone."

"Well then you can wait until they come out."

"It can't wait," he almost yelled. "It can't."

"Listen you, I tried to be nice to you, but if it's mischief you're up to I'm going to have to report you. I will never let a Slytherin anywhere near Gryffindor. No sir, not on my watch."

"Alright, I'll wait."

An hour later he heard the click of what seemed like feminine heels emerging from the Gryffindor door. He looked up, his heart skipping a beat. But, once again he was disappointed. It was only Granger.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

Her voice was more pitying than loathsome. But for once he didn't mind. He pitied himself. It seemed right for others to pity him.

"Waiting," he breathed heavily.

"I don't think Ginny will come down today."

"Where is she, Granger? What is she doing?"

"She's in bed. She hasn't gotten up since she came in late one night. She's stopped crying now. But she won't get up. And she won't say anything."

The sadness on his face must have been apparent, because when Hermione had turned around to leave she seemed to relent, and walked back over to him.

"Malfoy," She said. He looked up.

"Look, I'm going to go to the library to drop this book off. Do you want to come and get something to drink? Some coffee maybe? Or, you know- if you don't- you know, with me, I can bring you back a cup."

"No, Granger. Er.. Thank you. I'll just stay here."

She nodded and stared at him for a moment, before walking away. And when she came back he was still there. Waiting.

But Ginny never came down. Never before had Hermione felt sorry for Malfoy. Never before had she realized how human he could be.

XX

The thing Malfoy hated most was contemplation. Some people could do it happily. But he had never had happy memories.

But now it seemed, at the point when his life was the lowest and the most depressing, contemplate was all he could do. All he thought about was her, and every memory that ran through his head made him more and more gloomy.

And when Snape came for him, that second night, he hardly even noticed he was there, he couldn't tell the difference between sitting next to the Fat Lady for hours and walking along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. He couldn't separate the images of Ginny from the scenes right in front of him. He couldn't differentiate the texture of the cold, hard stone floor, and the warm softness of his bed. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

XX

And that was exactly what Ginny read. When she opened to that page of his diary, the page she was the most nervous to read. That was exactly what it said.

"Nothing matters anymore, except the fact that I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her. But like my mother, I have hurt her in return for the joy she has brought to me. And I deserve nothing but to suffer." "To hurt myself; to know that I am getting back what I did to her because I love her."

It was something that Ginny did not entirely understand. But the last few sentences, matched with the dried blood scattered along the page scared her. Possibilities of what could have happened at the time when that entry was written ran through her mind and her heart began racing.

And when she woke up that morning still worried and frightened at Draco's depressed entry she had a revelation. It didn't matter that he hurt her. It didn't matter that the beginning of their love had been a based on a bet. That he had first been acting. What mattered was that it was real in the end; that he loved her now. And most of all, that she loved him.

XX

The next morning Draco woke up early as he had before, thinking about Ginny and what his life would be without her. And determined as he was before, he got dressed and made his way back again to the Gryffindor Entrance. Brock stopped him.

"Draco, where are you going again?"

He stopped contemplating whether he should let Brock know or not. What did it matter? It was all pointless. He had no secrets anymore.

"To the Gryffindor Wing."

"You've been there twice before."

"I know."

"Why?"

"To find Ginny."

"And what if she doesn't come out again?"

He stayed silent for a moment, and then with a heavy breath he said,

"Then it's over."

"What is?" Brock called out as Draco exited the common room.

"My life." was the answer he received.

Malfoy had never said something that rang with more truth. And that was a terrifying thought to Brock.

XX

When Ginny finally emerged from the Gryffindor Common Room, after having paced around her room for two hours thinking of what she would say to him, the first thing she noticed was the blonde hair, neatly combed as she was accustomed too, but the head it was attached to in a manner she was not accustomed to.

Bent low, with Draco staring at the ground and drawing invisible characters with his fingers. He looked like he had been sitting there for hours, like he had been waiting for her for hours. She stopped at the sight of him and all the hurt and pain she had felt before came back to the surface. Could she really get over the fact that he had used her? But the diary in her hands reminded her that he still loved her. And the beating of her heart told her that she still loved him. And that was something she couldn't ignore.

He turned around, as if somehow sensing her there. And when he set his eyes on her he just gazed at her for a moment, as if he had somehow imagined her, like he had many times those past nights.

She wished she could say that at the sight of him her heart filled with uncontrollable joy. But it didn't. At the sight of him her heart filled with sadness. Because he did not look like the Draco she knew. He did not even look like the Draco soon after Christmas. He looked like a Draco with no hope in his eyes, with no happiness left. A Draco who's spirit had died, and was left alive solely by the beating of his heart.

They stood like that for moments on end, before she could take it no longer, and she made her first step towards him. It was as if that step had broken the trance he was in. As if her awkward and uncertain movement had proven to him that it really was her that she finally had come out to him. Suddenly his arms at his side felt awkward. And he changed their positions so frequently, folded, through his air, on his chin, and finally in his pockets.

He wracked his brain to find something appropriate to say. Something that could express all the regret and sorrow he felt for what he had done. Something to express the intensity of the love her felt for her. Something to show her how wonderful their life together would be, how much he wanted to give her, to show her, to prove to her.

But he didn't, because just then she held out something that did show all what he felt and had felt for her. Everything he had ever felt. She held out his diary. She cleared her throat,

"I…thought I should return it to you."

Her voice was soft, and gentle, but completely unreadable. Her eyes, however, were another matter. They were pained and confused.

"Did you read it?"

A question he already knew the answer to. He could sense it, in her manner, her eyes, in his heart. She didn't have to give him an answer,

"Look, Ginny, whatever was written in there, whatever you read…"

What could he say? Whatever you read was a lie? It wasn't. Everything written in there was the truth. Everything he had written was what he thought.

Everything he had written was what he felt. And everything he had written would be the thing to finally end his relationship with her. His heart burned with anger at himself, but cried at the same time for the realization that whatever amount of love he held for her would not explain away the pages of that diary.

Whatever love he had for her now would not explain what lack of love, like, or even respect him had held for her before. Feeling ashamed and disgusted at himself he gave a frustrated sigh. He could not explain himself.

He ran his hand through his hair trying to regain control of his emotions.

And that was when she saw it. Slashes, red and sore laced upon his wrists.

Immediately her mind flashed back to the bloodstains in the diary. Was this what he did? Was this his punishment? For her? She wasn't worth it. She wouldn't have him hurt herself for her. That would hurt her even more. She held out her hand, and grabbed his arm.

Shocked at her sudden contact with him he stopped dead in his tracks and gazed, confused at her. What would she say to him now? Never come near me again? Take your filthy diary and leave?

But she said something so bizarre that many months later he still could not understand it, "Draco…I'm, I'm sorry."

Sorry? Sorry? To him? He could not stand it. He couldn't stand to hear her apologize to him like he was the one who deserved an apology. Like she was the one who had wronged him.

"No." He said. And he pulled her close, he let her head nuzzle into his chest, and he gripped her firmly afraid she would pull away.

"No, don't say that to me. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. I never did."

And she cried, she cried with the comfort that he had given her. For the trials they had gone through had proven too much for her to keep inside. She could hold it no longer. And she gripped firmly onto his cloak and held onto him for ages.

"No. I'm sorry," he told her, his voice was shaky and filled with sadness.

"I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for making you cry. I never meant to hurt you."

And even still he fought to hold back his own tears, he fought to cry with her, to control his emotions.

"Don't be sorry," her voice was almost inaudible, "I cry because… because I love you."

And his heart did a somersault inside. He almost couldn't believe that he had heard it. He almost couldn't explain what he felt. Going from hopeless grieving to uncontrollable happiness.

"What?" he asked.

And she thought for a moment, before saying again, more strongly, "I love you."

He looked at her for what seemed like an eternity, taking in everything he could,

"Say it again Ginny."

She smiled a little and wiped a tear away,

"I love you Draco Malfoy."

Passionately he pulled her too him, gripping her with as much force as the love he felt inside. Holding on to her forever didn't seem like an impossible task to him. "I love you. Above everything," he whispered into her hair, before pulling back to share a kiss with her. A kiss of promise and a kiss for a sorry.

It wasn't going to be easy, they both new. Neither of them was perfect and neither expected the romance of fairytales. But there was a force which drew them to each other, and a love which bound them together. And neither could resist it. Neither wanted to resist it.

XX