Author's Note: Same as the last chapter; Ginny until the section break, Draco thereafter. Whether this is "the end", or the "first day of the rest of their lives", there will be no more. It's just a dramatic or angsty romance short, and now it's done. Honestly, the whole idea of memory charms and such in the Potterverse really freaks me out.

Act IV
If You Only Knew

'If I drown tonight, bring me back to life
Breathe your breath in me,
The only thing that I still believe in is you
If you only knew.'
(Shinedown)

I felt nervous. It was a sort of first date feeling, only a thousand times more so, because I was already madly in love with this man. I didn't know what Hermione and the Healer had said or done to make Draco agree to see me. The last time I had set eyes on his face he had been practically snarling, angry at me for defiling his privacy. He had not looked as if he would accept me any time soon. And yet, not two days later, he had asked to see me. I had been tempted to say no, to serve him right for treating me so, but I lacked both the strength and the conviction to do it. I loved him too much to reject him.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, thinking as I did so that I was being very silly. Draco was in a hospital bed. We were not going to be going anywhere. I did not need to look nice. He was not any more likely to remember me if I dressed up. And he had already seen me at my worst, in helpless tears at his bedside, with red puffy eyes and tears running down my cheeks, spoiling my make-up. It was foolish vanity, nothing more and nothing less, that made me want to look my best to go to St Mungo's to see him.

I felt as if it was my last chance with him, and in a way it was. It was all the worse because I had never done anything to him. This whole thing was unfair. But then no one said that life would be fair. If life was fair, my mum would not be dead. If life was fair, my living brothers would not shun me because of the man I loved. If life was fair, my lover would have recognised me. But life was not fair, and that was why I sat, dressed for a night out, but feeling as if I was about to face a firing squad.

I was worried for Draco. Even if Hermione was right, and his memory had been modified, he would never get it back. Memory charms could be removed by a powerful wizard, but the victim's mind was left broken. And I would never wish for Draco to be sent insane, for me. That was what brought the truth home to me; he had lost more than I had. I might not have Draco, I might never have him again, but I had the memories. He did not even have that. And if we couldn't work this out, he might never be loved again. I loved him, but I had to admit that he could be cold, arrogant and difficult. Some women might not have given him the chance that he deserved.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was twenty past four, and Draco had requested that I come at half past. I would keep to that. The day he woke up I had promised to come back. I had never broken my word to him before, and I would not now. Whether this was the last time I saw him or not, I wanted him to see me at my best, as I had been on the night he fell in love with me. Maybe it was a vain hope to trigger his shattered memories, but I didn't care. It was important to me, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.

I Apparated to a quiet alley just around the corner from the hospital, and quickly made my way there. I entered the building through the mock shop window, and found myself in the clinical busyness of St Mungo's. I knew the way to his room; after all, I had been there every day while he had been unconscious. The two days we had spent apart, when he would not see me, had been torture. The time I would have spent with him seemed to taunt me, defying me to find anything to do with those spare minutes.

And at last, I was there. I knocked at the door, and heard his precious voice tell me to come in. I felt my heart thudding in my chest. I knew it was foolish, but I was excited to be seeing him again. I opened the door slowly, and stood there, looking at him. He stared at me. I could almost feel him running his eyes over my body. I felt a shiver up my spine. Was this all going to be alright after all? Could it be?

He sat on the edge of the bed. He was no longer as weak as he had been. I could see that he was getting better physically, but something in his pale eyes told me that the hole in his memory was still there. And something in my mind told me that it was always going to be there. All that we could talk about today was whether or not we could live with the problem, provided that he wanted to try. I knew I did. It was the thing I wanted most in the world, just to be with Draco.

When he spoke, my spirits rose. The voice was the voice I knew, not the sneering drawl of the mini Malfoy. Perhaps I was really going to get him back. "I got your letter." Four words, but they made me feel weak inside, simply because hewas saying them to me. I thought briefly that I was acting like a silly love struck girl. Then I decided that there was nothing silly about being madly in love.

"Is that why you decided to give me a chance?" I made my voice slightly accusing. Much as I wanted him, I did not want to make it too easy for him. He had hurt me, however involuntarily, and there was some devilish part of me that wanted to make him pay, in some small way, for the anguish he had made me feel.

He looked at me, sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry I said what I said. I'm not myself. I really didn't know who you were, what you meant to me. I still don't. I feel… something towards you, something powerful, but I'm not sure what it is. It could be love, I don't know. I don't remember ever being in love before, so I don't know what it feels like." He faltered, and I saw an emotion in his eyes that I had never seen before. Even when faced with the probability of his own death, I had never seen Draco Malfoy look vulnerable, but now, he did. It seemed strange that a man who had faced so much could be worried about offending me. I had a feeling that it was somehow going to be alright, but I suppressed it. I didn't want to hope too soon.

"You know what I said in my letter," I said, tentatively. He nodded. "What do you think?" When he just stared at me, I elaborated, my heart beating wildly, "Do you think that there's hope for us? I know you don't remember me, or anything we did together, and you may never be able to, but do you think that we could just pick up where we left off?"

He looked at me again, his eyes filled with some emotion that I couldn't place. Then he sighed, deeply. "No," he replied, fixing his gaze on me. It was impossible to tell what he thought or felt. "No, I don't think we can."

I felt a little worried about the meeting. I did not know whether she would be able to forgive my outburst and my insults. I had not known whether she would agree to come to me or not. And when she said she would, I was seized with a fear that she only wanted to see me so she could hurt me to my face. True, her letter had been kind, and gentle, full of love and sympathy, but I was still afraid of rejection. I was still Malfoy enough to be ruled by my pride.

The thought that I might need someone, especially someone who I could not remember even meeting, troubled me. I had never needed anyone before. But perhaps that had been my weakness. Being isolated from all other people might mean that no one was close enough to hurt me, but it also meant that no one was close enough to try and heal my pains. I needed someone. I had to come to terms with that. And the person I needed was someone I could remember nothing about. If this was truly my father's doing, I hoped that he was roasting in some dingy corner of Hell.

I smoothed out the letter on my knees again. I treasured the letter. It was the only thing I had from Ginny. It was my only clue as to who she was, the only reference I had to what this life changing relationship had been like. Since I had never known love, it was almost as if the letter had been written to another. I felt like a voyeur, as if I was reading something not really meant for me. And in a way it was true. The letter had been written to another Draco Malfoy. I wondered if Ginny realised that without my memories I was not the same person she had known.

Dear Draco,

I know you do not remember who I am, but I remember you. You are not the same boy that you were at school. Your outburst at the hospital was typical of the old Draco, and I was frightened that you had forgotten who you are. Do you know that you are a hero? That even the Minister of Magic has commended your actions against the Dark side? Do you remember that your father threatened to kill you? The people with the opinions you voiced yesterday are no longer your friends. They would kill you on sight. I, however, along with the rest of the Order, know you and respect you. Some of us, my foolish self included, actually like you.

I hope you come round from this shock. You did hurt me yesterday, you know. Would you like to be called a Malfoy? No, you don't need to answer; I know you don't like it. You are Draco, as you have told me so many times. Just Draco. I appreciate that. You are a person to me, so I should be a person to you, not a mere Weasley. I forgive you on the grounds that you were not fully yourself. I know that you may never remember me, but I hope that we can at least try to rebuild the life we used to have.

It is a shame that your memory is gone. There are so many memories that I would love to be able to share with you still. For instance, there is the… but no, none of these things will mean anything to you any more. Not even the moments before the last battle, when you told me that you loved me. I can't ask you if you meant it, because I suppose you won't be able to tell me. Please let me see you. I know things look bad, but they can only get better, can't they?

Yours, with love,

Ginny

The letter still brought tears to my eyes with the combination of sadness and hope, comfort and gentle rebuke. It was touching, the obvious devotion that I could practically feel in the words on the page. If I didn't know better, I would say that the simple piece of parchment covered with neat green scrawl had touched my heart. I also felt a strange, smouldering rage that these memories that she alluded to would never be open to me. I had lost something, I had known that since I had woken up, but it had taken the letter to make me realise exactly how much.

I looked at the clock. I had told her to visit at half past four, and it was twenty past. No, I hadn't told her, I had asked. There was no knowing whether she would be here or not. I hoped that she would. There was no way that I was going to let the last words I said to her be angry words of rejection. She didn't deserve that. I knew that from the letter alone. And in my rational mind, I knew that she would come. But underneath that, I worried. I was scared that I had thrown away the only love that had ever been offered me.

I could hear footsteps in the corridor. Someone was coming this way. Could it be her? I felt tightness in my chest. I wanted it to be her. I wanted to talk to her, to finally see her before the suspense and my nerves drove me mad. I knew that she was not yet late. She might come exactly on time, in which case I had another… seven and a half minutes left to wait. Every minute that passed seemed like an hour. The time mocked me. Even time was trying to keep Ginny from me.

There was a knock at the door. I started, but regained my composure quickly and called, "Come in." She did. I looked up and was stunned. I had underestimated the girl the last time I had seen her. She was not merely pretty, she was almost beautiful. I stared. I couldn't help it. I ran my eyes over every inch of her. This girl, this lovely woman, she was mine. And what was more, she was almost begging to keep things that way. Short of wondering if she had lost her mind, I could have no objection.

She didn't speak, and the silence quickly became intolerable, so I choked out, "I got your letter." I wondered if I could fill those four pitiful words with the incredible depth of the feelings I had about the letter and the letter writer. I saw her brown eyes light up, so perhaps I succeeded. Or maybe the fact that I had said some civil words to her made her happy. I didn't know. I only knew that, at that moment, I would have done anything to keep that smile on her face and that light in her eyes.

"Is that why you decided to give me a chance?" she asked, accusingly. I flinched. The words hurt me. My rejection of her had obviously caused her a lot of pain. I felt disgusted at myself, and I felt a deep and overwhelming sadness born of the fear that she might not let me say all that I needed to say. She might not want to hear it. She might walk away and leave me here.

The words tumbled out of my mouth, far too fast, in my desperation to say as much as I could in the time allowed. "I'm sorry I said what I said. I'm not myself. I really didn't know who you were, what you meant to me. I still don't. I feel… something towards you, something powerful, but I'm not sure what it is. It could be love, I don't know. I don't remember ever being in love before, so I don't know what it feels like." I paused, gasping for breath. The emotional outpouring had tired me. I had not planned to say most of it, but I knew that all of it was true.

"You know what I said in my letter," she said, with pleading in her caramel eyes. I nodded, careful not to allow any of the emotion attached to the letter to show in my face. "What do you think?" I stared at her, slackly. I didn't know what she meant. I thought and felt so many things with regards to that letter. Seeing my confusion, she clarified, "Do you think that there's hope for us? I know you don't remember me, or anything we did together, and you may never be able to, but do you think that we could just pick up where we left off?"

It was at that moment that I knew that everything was going to be alright. The unease and misery of the previous couple of days had evaporated. Ginny's air of desperation convinced me that she wanted to sort this out as much as I did. The joy flooded my heart and my soul, but none of the emotion reached my eyes. Many years of indoctrination by Lucius Malfoy had made me adept at hiding my emotions until I wanted them to be shown. Now I knew that she was mine, I couldn't resist the chance to just play one last game with her.

In my best indifferent tone, I said, "No. No, I don't think we can." The look on her face was everything I could have wished for. Horror, disbelief and desperation mingled on her expressive freckled features. I would have kept the deceit up for longer, but then I saw tears beginning to form in her eyes, and I couldn't stand it any more.

"We can't pick up where we left off, but I wonder," I paused for dramatic effect, wondering if she would kill me for this later. "I wonder, Miss Weasley, if you would like to start all over again."

The beautiful light in her eyes was priceless. I would have spent the entire Malfoy fortune at once if someone had told me that there was a way to keep her so happy forever. She didn't reply. She didn't need to. She crossed the yards that lay between us and sat with me on the bed, and as she looked at me I could feel love. Then she kissed me, and it was wonderful. No words exist to describe that feeling. It felt like the first kiss of my life. And I suppose that, in a very real sense, it was.

-End-