LOVE ON EARTH
Summary: This dark, romantic tale asks whether it is possible to survive a love that consumes you. The answers that Ginerva Weasley discovers are heartbreaking and wise, as complex as they are devastating. For in our dreams, love is simple and glorious but it is something absolutely different here on earth.
DSCLAIMER: NOTHING is mine…
Shards of fantasy
Filtering through my conscious.
His lips on the inside of my wrist
My fingers uncurling against his supple palm
His hard masculine lines pressed up against me
Hot whispers into his stubble tainted skin
Most of all, a thought from the heart
Of watching his dark hair gray with age.
- Anonymous
Part One
She fell in love with him three times – the first time was in his last year at Hogwarts and she only realised it in retrospect.
"It was like seeing someone for the first time, and you look at each other for a few seconds, and there's this kind of recognition like you both know something. Next moment the person's gone, and it's too late to do anything about it." She would say when she told Hermione about it years later, when she recollected that moment.
It was in the Grand Hall. Dumbeldore had just stood up to announce that the end of the year had arrived, that all houses should cooperate as one, not to lose hope if deatheater attacks rose and no deatheater would be allowed to set in foot in the sanctuary known as Hogwarts even if he were a student. The last bit raised a lot of murmurs among the students.
"So this means Malfoy's not a deatheater." Harry thought aloud.
"Not yet, anyway." Hermione glanced across the room, darkly.
Ginny did not blame her. That year had been filled with deatheater attacks on muggles, the Slytherins looking increasingly smug and confident each time they were reported.
Ginny too followed her gaze at Draco's, staring at him as she mused over her own thoughts.
Thoughts about how Draco would not meet anyone's eyes and how she could not bear to see anyone fold up inside themselves, the way he did, going farther and farther inside, until the part of him having dinner at the Slytherin table was only the smallest corner of his soul.
He was cutting his food carefully before he looked up, right at her and did not even blink. She went on looking at him. Ginny was possessed with the giddiest feeling.
She wanted to make him laugh, for some strange reason. She would see if she could. It was his last night here, she would possibly never see him again, and he was good looking even if he was thoroughly annoying. She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.
"What do you think you're doing?" Ron said to her. Ginny had not imagined her brother catching her.
"Nothing." She quickly told him. 'It's just Luna." Only Hermione noticed Luna's back was facing them but she said nothing about it, her gaze lingering slightly longer on Ginny.
When Ginny looked across the hall, she saw that Draco was gone. And then she realised all at once, she did not ever want to stop staring at him.
The second time was during the heat of the Second War. She was working as one of the healers, at one of the temporary branches of St. Mungo's set up nearer to the battleground.
There seemed to be a shortage of healers, and so she had volunteered her services, right out of Hogwarts. Even Oliver Wood, realising how useless his quidditch skill was in such a situation, volunteered as a healer.
Fighting in a battle was not a way he wished to contribute to their fight against the Dark Side – that was what he told Ginny during one of their patrols around the medical campgrounds, one night.
They had become friends, confidants but had little time or mind for anything else. But Oliver was the one who brought Draco to her, not fully recognising him as he was preoccupied with a C-section he had to perform on a witch downstairs.
Ginny knew who he was instantly. She was not surprised to see him there. Medical aid was to be provided to anyone who sought it. There was to be no discrimination. It was in the well-known Convention of Wizarding Wars.
What intrigued her was which side he was on. According to Harry and her brother, there seemed to be no sign of Draco on the Dark side, neither was he acting as a spy for Dumbledore. Ginny had simply presumed that he had absconded, spoilt for choice of which side to fight for.
Until then though.
He was leaning against the doorframe, dark robes billowing about him, his hood thrown back over his shoulders. He looked like a dark angel. For a moment, Ginny was mesmerised. He was beautiful. There was little doubt about that. The arch of his eyebrow, the smirk on his lips was all telltale signs that he sure as hell knew that he was good looking.
But then her attention was snapped by the trail of blood on the floor behind him.
He had a long gash up his arm. Ginny motioned him to sit on the bed, while she pulled out her medical supplies. It took a few select charms to close up the gash on his arms.
Ginny went about her task, confidently, having done it a million times, belying the whirl her thoughts were in – why did he have a gash on his arm? Who had done that to him? Was he involved in the War?
He said nothing, did not even wince in pain once, simply watching her intently.
Finally unable to stand the silence, Ginny having finished healing the cut, stood up, motioning to his arm, " Didn't it hurt?"
"That's a stupid question." Draco had that mean edge in his voice and Ginny might have turned and left, if she had not realised that he was crying.
She sat down on the bed beside him, watching him and she found out how much it hurt. She realised how young the all were – she only eighteen, he a mere nineteen.
She made him lie down and remained with him, till he fell asleep. She watched him asleep, the look of peace on his face, so unlike the haunted gaze he had fixed upon her when he had first walked in, and she fell for him, for the second time. Felt the twisting of her heart, the fluttering in her chest but did not bother to figure out what it was.
She left him to go one her night rounds and when she returned, he was gone, just like that.
Ron came by late that night, on an Auror's order to check the patient files. They had a bit off a tiff since that was considered a serious breach of patient healer confidentiality. Only after Oliver, being one of the healers-in-charge, intervened did Ron back down.
After switching to big brother mode and making sure Ginny was okay, he went back to Order of The Phoenix head quarters. Ginny wondered about her brother's request – they had to be a reason why he was given such orders. Did it have to do with Draco? Her guess was as good as anyone else's.
The third time, was inevitable.
A few years after The Second War, the Malfoy name was all over the place, back to reining the power and prestige that had always been associated with the name.
Never mind that Voldermort was dead, defeated at last by Harry and excellent Auror strategy, never mind that no one knew where Draco had been all those years. Suddenly he was back. Suddenly he was in control again, monopolizing business markets, making large contribution to every charitable organisation named.
He has squared the debts his father owed. He was one of the richest wizards on this side of the world. Even a ward at St. Mungo's had been named after him.
One thing wealth bought in the wizarding world was respect. Already ministry officials were courting him when they needed a new roof for the library or funds for a stoplight. Despite all this, Draco was still murmured about behind his back.
When people saw him at Diagon Alley, they spoke to him courteously all the while wondering why he did not just go home. He did not even drink, sitting at Cauldron's Inn with a butterbeer, for reasons the regulars were still trying to figure out. When Draco finally left, rarely having said more than a few words, then people were brave enough to refer to him as the devil or the arrogant son of a gun.
It was the women who turned to look when Draco walked by. They pitied him, they really did. He lost not only his mother who was sick every day of her last few years, but also his father who died in the throes of Azkaban. It was lonely for a man to live like that.
These witches could not turn him down. He was hurt and he needed someone. They did not have to mention that going older has only served to make him more good looking than he was back at Hogwarts, when they would not have had a chance. He never bedded any of them for more than a night, he gave nothing of himself away and he left them cold in their beds the next morning. They were all just another good lay for him.
Ginny knew all this. She heard the whispers and the mutters. She was still working at St. Mungo's having been promoted to assistant supervisor of the Magical Maladies ward. She still had lunch regularly with Oliver Wood, now Supervisor for the Maternity ward. They still talked and confided in each other, still avoided discussing the slightest hint of wanting more than a simple friendship.
What was different now was that despite tales of all of Draco's escapades in bed, how cold hearted he was, she felt otherwise. She felt as if she knew the real him, the boy who sat on the bed, and had cried in front of her, the one dark night four years ago.
She felt she knew him completely and not at all. This intrigued her, the potent combination of a mystery that called to her heart. She thought about him frequently.
And then she began to fall, completely, absolutely. It was only a matter of time, she decided. These feelings for him had always been simmering beneath the surface, since Hogwarts.
Hell, they were way more intense that any other feelings she ever had, even that infatuation on Harry seemed so superficial compared to this. They had been there for so long as well. That had to count for something. She did not just want him; she wanted to make it all better for him.
She thought her love could change him, could make life better for him. That if he knew what it was to be loved; he would be a better person. What he lacked was love. At least that was her theory. But she could do nothing about it, nothing more than fill her thoughts about him.
So much so that she no longer thought about him – he was a part of her mind, there in her head. He was a feeling, the tremor that sped through at her when she happened to see him across Hogsmead, out on a rare shopping expedition. He was memories, all those vivid moments of him at Hogwart, then the climax of it all – the night at the St. Mungo's camp.
Her need for him was so all consuming, she wondered if she was going mad. How could you want someone so much without even knowing him or her inside out?
But then, she did. She felt sure that she did know him. You did not have to live with someone for fifty over years to really know them. It could happen in a split second, in an eternal moment of vulnerability.
It must have been that crazy knowledge which propelled her from the table she was sitting at, alone in Three Broomsticks, right across the room to where he was sitting, all by himself, staring at the door, an expression of nonchalance on his face.
It was amazing the places love would carry you; it was astounding to discover how far you were willing to go. Ginny realised this, as she wondered where her pride went. This was Malfoy, the man whom her family loved to hate and who treated her family like scum.
Yet here she was standing in front of him, about to open her mouth and speak to him. She wondered if she was the same person who spat at Zabini's face last week when he tried to hit on her, the slimy Slytherin desperate for a pureblood, no better than Draco himself.
She could not see that similarity in the both of them now. All she could see were Draco's cold, clear, grey eyes.
Draco knew who she was. He had studied her from a distant, waiting for her to come to him. He knew that she would come over, knew that much.
She was the same as the other women, yet different. What set her apart was that she refused to be just another lay, just another one nightstand. If Draco were to bed a woman like her, she would just keep coming back, truly believing that love was in the picture.
He knew all this – he could see it in her cinnamon brown eyes, the way she licked her lips nervously, the way she pushed her long hair off her face. For a moment, he considered her, standing there, looking at him.
She was a pretty girl – a pouty mouth that was rosy and sweet, hair as red as the blood Draco saw every night in his dreams, a curvaceous petite body that would keep him warm in bed.
She would make a memorable night, of that he was sure. It did not matter that she was a Weasley, at least she was a pureblood and after The War that was hard to come by.
"Let's get out of here." Draco spoke first, standing up. Ginny was startled. She had not even said anything.
"I don't think-"
"Fine." He cut her off, walking off.
"Wait-"
He stopped, turned around and fixed her with one of his stares. She looks right back at him, and then she knows like he knows – at the core they are both identical.
Seeing the hesitation, panic and anticipation contorting her face, he took a step towards her, crowding her personal space, till she felt breathless from just standing that close to him.
"Wait for what, Ginerva? Wait for what?"
And the strangest thing was Ginny could not think of one thing or one reason she should wait any longer. Her extremely warped mind told her she had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
She tried to remind herself of that, the life she led, the responsibilities she had and yet when he shot her a look of question, she nodded. She even let him grab her by her hand and lead her through the door.
You had to go when you were taken, right? You had to follow when you were led. Don't think. Don't think. Don't stop. Don't hesitate. Maybe this was destiny, the hand of fate against your skin. If there were a warning to be heard, Ginny would not have listened.
Several witches including Rosalyn, Rosmerta's daughter, noticed what was going on. She turned away when she saw them together, fixing up a firewhiskey for herself, drinking it sour.
These were just a few of the women who knew that when Draco could not take you back to your place, he would bring you to the Shrieking Shack, behind the village, to a spot near it, so overgrown you could not see the starlight, and he never kissed you on the mouth.
But any of these women would be foolish to think that being acquainted with a man's habits was the same thing as knowing him. They did not know Draco and never would. They would never guess, for instance, that Draco was bringing Ginny to Madam Puddifoot's.
As she followed Draco outside, she knew she would remember every single thing about that moment for the rest of her life.
How the sky was as gray as soapstone, the scent of cinnamon floating out from the newly opened bakery nearby where they were baking cinnamon bread, children walking by wearing wool mittens and socks.
This, after all, was the instant when she did the exact right thing or the wrong thing depending on what happened next.
Would she wonder if she was thinking straight? Would she guess the chilled wind that was shaking the trees affected her decision or was it the lack of sunlight or the way he looked at her?
It was the sort of the day best spent in bed and watching the back of Draco as he moved, she ached to do just that.
Much to her surprise, she found herself standing outside the familiar small teashop, decorated with frills and bows.
As they stepped inside, Madam Puddifoot herself literally run up to them squeezing in between tables, having never seen the formidable Mr. Malfoy there before.
"A private room." Draco commanded.
Ginny watched him carefully. How tall he seemed, how completely confident Everything about him was so alien and familiar at the same time. The last time she saw him, during the War, he did not have those lines on his face or that darkened colour to his eyes.
The private room was right at the back, a cramped and steamy room with curtains concealing it from view. There was a round table and long stretched couch. Ginny sat down gingerly beside Draco. He ordered two coffees for them before turning his attention to Ginny.
He wanted her, she realised because he believed she knew him inside out. She wanted to believe that too. Also because she could not get over him.
Ginny was nearly twenty-five and she had some white streaks plaited through her hair but Draco did not seem to mind as he leaned across to kiss her. The women at Three Broomsticks could only begin to imagine how deep Draco's kisses were.
Draco kissed her with his eyes open – it shocked her to realise that he was watching her. A man who did not close his eyes, even for a kiss, wanted to keep control at all times. Draco's eyes had cold little flecks in the centre and as Ginny begin to kiss him back, she wondered if she was not making a little pact with the devil.
There was nothing shy or tentative about the way she kissed him. As soon as she kissed him like that, Draco knew how far she would go. He did not have to learn legillimency to divine that. It was the way she leaned her head back, it was the way she closed her eyes.
Ginny thought she was so clever, keeping all her secrets safe but in one single instant she had revealed every one.
He had his hands around her, as she kissed him again and again, as if daring fate, as if she had not a care in the world.
'That's right." Draco whispered to her, " Give me more."
Draco had his hands inside her robes; he pushed her down so that her back was flat against the seat.
Love always had a sour taste for Draco – the more he had of something, the more he wanted. It had always been that way for him. Maybe he could never be satisfied but he knew how to satisfy Ginny and he was doing it right now.
She was there at the edge as he moved his fingers inside her slowly. He did not stop when she told him to and then stopped just when she was about to come.
He kissed her then, greedy and deep, leaving her longing for more – desperate was exactly the way he wanted her.
On any other evening, Ginny would be worried about her parents waiting for her to return with the groceries and to have dinner together as they did every Thursday but she could not think about that.
She was already agreeing to see Draco tomorrow, and the next day and the one after that.
Sometimes love was like a house without any doors.
It was a sky filled so many stars it was impossible to see a single one.
TBC
A/n: Since no one seems to be reviewing, I'll just stop this story even though I have written all four parts that there is to this story…so tell me if you think this story is worth anything at all..Twenty reviews and then I'll not trash this story..dun want to waste my time on some trashy piece of writing..