Saviour

“I know you cannot forgive me. But I hope that you’ll understand. I did this for you. I’ll love you forever.” She let the paper fall from her shaking fingers. It landed with a deafening silence. Silence was all she had heard for a month. And today was no different. Stillness, calmness. It should have been raining, but it was the brightest it had been in a long time. It should have been grey, dull, dark; an imitation of her leaden mood, but the sun was shining, and the sky was blue, and the flowers were blooming for spring.

They left on St. Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t planned, but Ginny had always thought it was a good sign. St. Valentine dedicated his life to bringing couples together, despite the feeling that men who were in love were not good soldiers. Ginny knew this wasn’t true. She knew that love made people stronger. At least, she thought she knew. He loved her. He really did. This just didn’t make sense.

Ginny sat down on the stair to keep herself from collapsing. She felt tears burning from behind her closed eyelids, but she blinked them back. She refused to cry for him. His letter was right here, in the hallway, when she came downstairs this morning. She thought it was strange that he should write her a letter, but she hadn’t fully woken up, so she opened it, unsuspecting. Ginny’s eyes glanced at the letter, and she feverishly snatched it from its position on the ground. She hated that she felt the need to punish herself by re-reading it over and over.

“Ginny,
I am not a good person, and I know that you will do better without me. My obligation is to my father, and I realised it tonight. I know you cannot forgive me. But I hope that you’ll understand. I did this for you.
I’ll love you forever,
Draco”

She stood up, calmly put the letter back on the hall table, and walked to the kitchen. She made herself some tea, and drank it while looking out the window at the hills. She was in Scotland, miles away from anyone. Draco thought it was for the best if they hid out for a while – Ginny can see now that it has its disadvantages. She was never comfortable with isolation. Coming from a large family, where privacy couldn’t possibly be expected, she rarely ever felt lonely. But on the odd occasions when she did, it felt eerie, unfamiliar and unwanted.

It snowed. It hadn’t snowed all year, and then suddenly, it snowed in the middle of February. It wasn’t just sleet, either; it was the kind of snow that lies on the ground for days, the kind that cannot remain perfect forever; but if you see it just as it’s fallen, it’s one of the most beautiful sights you’ll ever see. Ginny waited for him in the back alley of a very dodgy pub in Muggle London for half an hour before he showed up.

“I’ve been waiting for ages. Where have you been?” she asked, shivering. Draco took off his Muggle winter coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I got caught up. It’s rather difficult to just waltz out of Malfoy Manor undetected. It took some time.” Ginny furrowed her brow stubbornly, and Draco sighed while embracing her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry I made you wait, Gin.”

“That’s all you had to say. I was worried. I thought they’d caught you.”

“Hardly likely,” he snorted. “It’s Crabbe and Goyle on guard duty. Why my father insists on putting those two imbeciles together, I’ll never know. Plus, Blaise helped me.”

“You trust Blaise with something like this?” she asked, doubtful.

“Of course I do. I know he’s a Slytherin, but if there’s one thing Zabini understands, its love.”

“We have to go,” she whispered despondently. He nodded and kissed the top of her head. She was not frightened for herself – her family would protect her if they were discovered together – but Draco would be killed. The snow on the ground was pure white – marred only by the footprints that led into the alley. There were no footprints leading back out, but it went by unnoticed. The snow fell and erased any evidence that Ginny and Draco were ever there in the first place.

When she took another gulp of her tea, it tasted salty. It wasn’t until then that she noticed she was crying, tears rolling off her cheeks viciously, in torrential anguish at being abandoned by the one person she thought knew her. She let out an oppressed sob and threw her mug angrily at the window facing the hills. The cracks in the perfect glass distorted the view of the perfect hills in the distance, and she was glad.

When they arrived at the house, the snow was already a foot deep. “Where exactly are we, Draco?” she asked, a whisper in the darkness, as she groped for his hand to lead the way.

“A few miles from Edinburgh. Just follow me. Lumos.” The light from his wand showed the untouched snow, the serenity in the land and in the air. Ginny had an overwhelming desire to dive head first into the snow; she had never seen so much of it in her entire life. There was no time for games, and it felt licentious to be happy in times of war and woe, when so many of her friends and family were suffering at the hands of Voldemort. She would miss them all – her parents, her brothers, Harry, Hermione… They’ll have to fight Voldemort without her.

He’s the reason Ginny cannot stay with her family. She can’t let Draco remain a Death Eater, she can’t let him become a loathed enemy. She can’t let him become a murderer…

“Reparo.” The glass was flawless, smooth once again.

“Gin...” His face was serious, sober. “You can’t leave your wand on the kitchen table, while you go for a shower. You have to take it everywhere! This isn’t The Burrow, you know. What if… what if we had some unexpected company? What use is your wand in the kitchen if you’re in the bathroom?”

She smiled cheekily, and held her hand out. He placed the wand in her palm, and forced her to wrap her fingers around the warm wood. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“I know you did. Don’t,” he warned, gravely. He turned to walk away, and she grabbed the sleeve of his woollen jumper.

“Draco,” she said. “The hard part’s over. I thought you said they wouldn’t be able to find us here?”

“Ginny, they can do anything.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Sometimes I feel like I have to look after you. I feel like your guardian. If something did happen – and I’m not saying it will – but if it did, then it would be my fault. I could never forgive myself.” He touched her nose with his.

She smiled up at him. “You love me.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed her softly.
*

She had been walking past the front door, when the tiny vial caught her eye. She held her breath while she picked it up, looking at it curiously, although she had an awful feeling that she knew what it was. She twiddled it about between her thumb and forefinger, before making her way slowly to the study. She tipped the milky contents of the tiny container into the stone Pensieve, watching in wonder as shadows flitted across the surface.

She lowered her head to the top of the shiny substance, and when she felt her nose touch it, she was pulled under. Images flashed around her; she couldn’t concentrate on any one before the next one blazed by. She could see some things. She could see herself and Draco: stolen kisses by the greenhouses, frantic, fear and excitement at the possibility of getting caught; frenzied love-making in the Room of Requirement, the Forbidden Forest, on the grounds about a mile from the Burrow; getting caught by Harry in the Quidditch grounds. She hadn’t known that Harry had seen them, but Draco obviously had. She wondered why he didn’t say or do anything about it. She saw secret smiles, angry tears, pure lust, pure love.

She couldn’t take anymore. She reached out, and landed with a heap on the floor, chest wracked with sobs that soon spilled forth, emulating the tears she cried.

Their memories were forsaken, as well as she.

*

She could not sleep.

She was all alone. What was she to do? Why would Draco leave her like this, with no warning? Only the night before, they had been giggling at the mess they had made trying to cook the Muggle way, at the insistence of Ginny, who felt that they needed to learn to do some things without the aid of magic. Draco was less than enthusiastic about the idea of doing something that Muggles did, but his stubbornness soon gave way as he watched Ginny try her best to boil eggs over an open flame.

“Gin, I’m no expert, but I think if you have to ‘boil’ the egg, then there must be some water involved. Surely, you don’t try to ‘boil’ it dry. Then it wouldn’t be called ‘boiled,’” he said smugly.

Ginny realised that he was right, but she couldn’t let him know that. “Well, maybe, Draco, I’m not making boiled egg anymore. Maybe I’m making scrambled. Or poached. Or fried.”

He snorted. “And are you?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

She could feel him walking closer to her as he said haughtily, “So what? You’re just placing the damn egg above an open flame, hoping that it will produce something?”

“That’s the general plan,” she murmured, as she felt her face getting hot with humiliation.

“You’re cheating, too,” he pointed out. “I’m pretty sure that Muggles don’t levitate the egg to cook it.”

“Well, how do they stop themselves from getting burned by the flame?” she snapped.

Draco snorted yet again. “Do I look like a Muggle to you? How the bloody hell should I know what – ”

There was a moment of silence, as both of them looked in awe at the innards of the egg splattered all over the walls and all over themselves. Ginny exploded with laughter, as she turned around to see her usually pristine boyfriend with yolk in his blond eyebrow.

“Merlin, Ginny!” Draco cursed half-heartedly, before laughing along with her. He wiped the egg off his face, as he watched with amusement, Ginny clutching her side, her face the colour of her hair, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy.

Ginny sat upright. There was a faint noise downstairs, which normally she would have let pass by. It was most likely the wind against the door, or the pipes. She could not sit still, though, if there was the slightest chance that it was Draco. She grabbed her wand and silently crept downstairs. She was not mistaken; she could hear someone opening cupboards in the kitchen. She almost cried, “Draco?” but she stopped herself. It may have been a Death Eater. She stopped on the third stair from the bottom. Her heart was beating in her throat.

“Lumos,” she heard someone whisper. She held her breath in fear, and peered around the corner of the hallway. A figure in a long black cloak.

“Stupefy!” Ginny roared, her wand pointing at the figure’s back. She saw the person freeze and drop to the floor. She hurried over to the silent body and gasped when she saw Blaise Zabini, an expression of exhaustion on his face.

Could she trust this boy? He had helped Draco escape on Valentine’s Day, but he may also have taken him away from her once again. What was he doing here? Ginny opened her mouth to speak several times, but she could formulate no words.

“Zabini?” she hissed. His eyes darted up to her face, while the rest of his body remained still. “Can I trust you?” she whispered. The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. Ginny reached into his cloak for his wand, and stood a few feet back as she muttered the spell to release Blaise from his body bind.

“Bloody hell, Weasley. Not a warning or anything. Sneaky little bugger,” Blaise sounded almost amused, if Ginny correctly identified his tone.

“What are you doing here, Blaise?” she asked.

“Trying to save Draco, actually,” he said, as he picked some invisible fluff from his cloak.

Ginny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You know where he is?”

“Of course I know where he is! He’s at Malfoy Manor. Apparently, his father came to retrieve him late last night. Made him give up all his memories, too. Are they here, by any chance? Lucius apparently forgot to take them,” he said in a condescending tone, not entirely unlike Draco’s.

“Yes.” Ginny turned pale, and confusion swept over her face. “He forgot to take them?”

“I think you disturbed him, and he dropped them. For some reason the Dark Lord doesn’t want you killed. In fact, he’s very adamant that no Weasley should be killed.”

Ginny felt tears sting her eyes, as she cried in relief, “So, no one’s dead? I mean, my family are all fine?”

“Oh yes. I dare say so. At least, the Dark Lord hasn’t murdered anyone.”

Ginny felt her mind almost explode with all the worries she had been carrying around for the past month or so. “Harry, Hermione? They’re all okay? What else is happening in the outside world? Is Draco okay? Is he prisoner? Do you want his memories? They’re in the Pensieve in the study. Shall I take you to it? How will you retrieve them? Oh, the vial – of course. Are you going to take them back to Draco? Should I come? What’s happening, Blaise?” She paused for breath, and Blaise took the opportunity to speak.

“Everyone’s fine. Yes, I’ve come to retrieve the vial, but you can’t come. It’s too dangerous. I can’t remember any more of your questions, but I really need those memories, Weasley. Where did you say it was?” She hurriedly jogged to the study, and pointed out the Pensieve to the dark-haired boy.

“I don’t understand. It seems awfully strange that the Dark Lord doesn’t want me killed.”

“How so? He probably has much worse things in mind for you lot than death.”

Ginny gasped at his clear honesty, but nodded numbly. “What will we do afterwards?”

Blaise took everything out of the stone basin and put things which looked like wisps of smoke into the small vial. He paused for a long time before he eventually answered, “I think Draco has another hide-out house for you both.”

“He does?” Ginny asked, incredulously. “Where?”

“I don’t know, Ginny.” As far as Ginny could remember, Blaise had always called her by her surname. Blaise stood up straight, having finished emptying Draco’s memories into the vial, which now looked like it had been filled with cloudy liquid. Ginny let out a sob and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Blaise.”

He was a little startled at the sudden sign of affection, but he muttered, “You’re welcome.”

“What am I to do?”

“Wait here.” With that, Blaise Apparated from the room. Ginny stood still and silent, because she just didn’t know what other way to stand.

*

Ginny stared into the eyes of her closest friend, which were glazing with unshed tears, and she looked away guiltily.

“Malfoy, Ginny?” the older girl sighed quietly. “Draco Malfoy? What the bloody hell were you thinking?” Ginny rarely heard Hermione swear, so when she did, it was so much more effective.

“I couldn’t help it. I can’t help it – I love him. I really do.”

This time it was Hermione who looked away in guilt. “What about Harry?” she asked eventually.

“What about him? He was the one who said he couldn’t be with me anymore, remember?” the red-haired girl snapped. “Everyone just expects me to sit around, pine for The Chosen One, while living out the rest of my miserable little life wishing that he’ll come home safely.”

“You know that’s not what we expect, Gin. But – Draco Malfoy?”

“He’s not what you think he is,” Ginny answered, turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

After Blaise had gone, Ginny tried to occupy herself. She had cleaned the kitchen until it was spotless, and as she stood back, satisfied, to admire her domestic achievement, she noticed that it was getting light outside. She looked at the tiny clock on the mantelpiece and realised that she had been working for at least three hours. She put the kettle on again, and was ready to put coffee in the mug, but changed her mind at the last minute, opting for tea, instead. She didn’t need any more energy than she already had. While she had been cleaning, she had no time to think about Draco or Blaise, but now that she had time to think, worry took over her, and her stomach twisted in nervous knots. Where are they? Why was it taking so long? Did Blaise even make it back? What would he tell Draco?

There was a sudden tap at the window, and it was as loud as thunder. She turned swiftly, and gasped when she saw it was only an owl. Surely, an owl hadn’t made that thunderous noise against the window? As it tapped on the window again impatiently, she thought that perhaps it was just her imagination that had made her think the noise was extreme. She fumbled the window open, and let the owl flutter in.

It was a surprising symbol of recognition from the Wizarding World. She hadn’t seen any kind of magical creature since she had come to this place. She hastily untied the letter attached to its foot. In her impatience, she clumsily dropped the letter and sighed at herself in exasperation as she bent to retrieve it.

“Ginny,
Wait for me at the fence which is a mile from the house. The one where we Apparated to when we first arrived. Be there at eight am. Bring some clothes, but leave the majority of our things at the house.
I’m so sorry, and I love you,
Draco”

The paper fluttered from her fingers in much the same fashion as it had yesterday morning, although this time it was in relief. It was six-thirty am. She raced up the stairs, and shoved as much as she could carry into a suitcase. She tried desperately to gather her brain into intelligible thoughts. They would need the basic clothes. They might need some food. She had no idea where they were going. Would it be far? How long would they have to keep running? Forever?

Her fingers swiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to organise the things that were essential from the things that were not. Tears streamed down her face. Any attempt to get rid of them was futile, as they were just replaced with more persistent drops of salty liquid.

*

It was ten minutes past eight before Draco finally turned up, looking flustered and exhausted. Ginny had been working herself into hysterics and when she saw the familiar grey eyes, she let out an involuntary sob. She threw her arms around him, and vaguely heard a mumbled apology for putting her through this. Shock had been her main emotion of the past twenty-four hours, but now that she saw him again, she wanted to cry for eternity at the possibility that she had almost lost him.

“Gin, come on, calm down. We have to hurry.” Ginny pulled herself into the sort of repose that any Weasley would be proud of. Before she had time to gather her thoughts, Draco was clinging on to her arms and she felt the familiar tug of Apparition.

They landed directly in front of a tiny cottage. It was bright and warm and the sun kissed their faces. Ginny frowned at her surroundings, trying to work out where they were. When she asked, Draco shook his head in a manner that said, “I’ll tell you everything later.”

Uneasily, Draco turned the door handle, and flung the door open, raising his wand in defiance. The darkness and general glumness of the décor in the inside of the cottage was a great contrast to the nice day outside. Stepping over the threshold cautiously, Draco ushered Ginny inside. Her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimness of the hall. Draco let out the breath he had been holding.

He relaxed too early.

Ginny looked across at the staircase only to see cold, grey eyes; eyes so similar, and yet completely different from those she could spend hours staring into, and still find new shades and shimmers.

She screamed too late.

Lucius Malfoy murmured the Killing Curse under his breath while his wand was pointed at his only child, and his eyes were filled with venom. Draco collapsed in a heap instantaneously, his eyes closed, his face distorted in what Ginny interpreted as regret and sorrow.

Calmly and without much effort, she pointed her wand at her boyfriend’s father, and her boyfriend’s killer.

“Go on, do it, sweetheart,” the blond man across the hall urged. “You know you want to. I killed him. You loved him, and I killed him.” He looked sad, and pathetic, but Ginny couldn’t give him the satisfaction and easy release of death.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Lucius Malfoy stared in horror as the youngest Weasley crumpled to the floor without so much as a flinch, laying half on her lover, her long red tresses trailing along his expensive black cloak. Her wand, which had done the deed, clattered on the floor.

“Draco,” Lucius muttered, walking slowly over to the deceased couple only a few feet away. He was pale and shifty, unsure of what to do next. He had thought Weasley would kill him. He had hoped she would. She was his way out! He kicked the small body of his son’s girlfriend in anger.

He cried for the first time in eighteen years. He turned his wand on himself, and there was a flash of green light, before he too collapsed on the dusty floor of the old, derelict cottage.

He had spent his entire life searching for his saviour. In that split second he suddenly realised that if you can’t save yourself, you remain unsaved.