Ginny and Harry's breakup hadn’t been violent nor depressing. There was a sense of melancholy. But afterwards, what she found out to sadden her the most was how she struggled; an effort to topple the constant guilt she felt, guilt that overcame any other feeling, even love. She reflected upon the situation and definitely realised she had loved Harry, but the disappointment of not loving him enough had been consuming her for too long. He was sweet and pleasant, and, not very often, funny. Never cruel. Never rude.

Harry valued friendship and family. For that he was attached to hers, perhaps even more than her sometimes... No, not really... All that was offered was in a very acceptable amount. He appreciated what he'd never had, and how unfair of her to mock him or envy his overzeal for his new found bonds. After so much trauma and sorrow, he deserved affection, as everyone whose purpose was so filled of self-sacrifice.

He deserved goodness, righteousness, to be taken care of... Ginny just couldn't meet those expectations. She couldn't meet any expectations. She was lost. She was empty. Unlike Harry, whose journey had been progressively and linearly decided by and for him, she drowned in tears and gasped for air amongst celebrations and picnics. Sectumsempra couldn't cut that profoundly. Oxygen and her new-earnt family's money deceived her. There was a huge lack in her abundance.

There she was, in a soirée thrown by the Ministry of Magic, giggling at silly anecdotes, on a pretty green dress, gazing proudly at her father’s modesty whenever he was complimented.
She looked at Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville: aurors, bureaucrats and teachers. She looked at the monumental building, its golden ornaments, coloured glass-made chandeliers and asked herself how did she end up there. Acidly, a memory of becoming a Quidditch Seeker overwhelmed her. Why did she give up on that dream? She couldn't find an explication other than her vicious abyss: quitting. She had quitted because, after a few try-outs, others seemed better, any fucking one played better. She wasn't gifted as Harry nor driven as Hermione. Ginny was the last to be born and, apparently, was the least capable of pursuing greatness.

Thereupon the tides brought her to a senseless job as Hermione's assistant in the Ministry. At first, it was temporary. Later, inertia led her to this grey routine. She helped solve prosaic and bureaucratic endeavours of Law and Enforcement as her Quidditch poster collected dust in the attic. It stung. Those brooms flying freely reminded her of failure. So m-u-c-h failure. Yeah. Ginny Weasley, the bright redhead, the saviour’s girlfriend, one of the Dumbledore's Army's youngest leaders, promising star player, burnt too soon.

Absently, she grabbed a champagne flute as she walked towards a corner to put herself together. Tears started bursting from her eyes and there was no reason to spoil her family's party. Her make-up and her vision were blurry when someone offered a handkerchief. Keeping her face down, hiding her puffy, reddish face, his identity remained unrecognizable, slowly, slid her fingers through some fancy embroidery in bold green thread over the silky fabric: "DM". Definitely not thinking through, she raised her head and saw his opaque grey eyes. Her mouth gaped with surprise and he smirked, that mischievous Malfoy's smirk. "You're welcome, Weasley".

Yes. Fate just couldn't throw her a bone. She managed to keep herself low from hundreds of friendly wizards who were amicably chatting at the moment except perhaps the only person she truly despised. Nemesis was a good terminology to define the blonde git. Disturbingly handsome as well, she whispered inaudibly. Still paralyzed, her limbs took some milliseconds to decide to hand him over his handkerchief and mumble silently "Thank you, Malfoy". At her sincere acknowledgments, he froze, saving his regards to her hazel eyes. He opened and closed his mouth, waiting for a comeback, almost anxiously. Amongst the turmoil of emotions that took over her, most of them related to confusion, she returned the look and thought that maybe he hasn't received blunt gratitude lately.

"Seeing me should cause you deep commotion, Weasley, but there's no need to embarrass yourself". He had recovered from the shock, clearly.

"Who would guess that you could actually be funny, Malfoy?". Watching his hands skilfully fold the cloth inside his robes' front pocket, the redhaired gained confidence and felt a rush fuelling her veins when the challenge approached. Defying Malfoy, mocking someone that hateful was energizing, even gleeful. That night's gloom suddenly was replaced by competitiveness. And, thankfully, there was nothing to lose.

The corner of his lips made a subtle move upwards and his platinum perfectly combed hair lost its neatness as a few strands fell, almost covering his silvery eyes. He took a step back and looked at her more carefully: from her copper waves that brushed her shoulders effortlessly, to her heaving breasts as the excitement startled her. At last, when he finished analysing the relief that her dress provoked when it touched her hips, decided to break the silence.

"I'm not a comedian. I have no intentions in making you laugh."
He now had grabbed a glass of Fire whiskey that floated nearby and took a sip. "Besides, with that puffy face, I'm not the one looking like a clown."

Appalled by his comments, she pushed him, which moved his tall figure only a few inches away. The bastard was strong, she reluctantly noticed.

“I do not look like a clown! And why are you here, besides ruining my day?", his eyebrows raised and another smile escaped his lips as Ginny fought not to chuckle as well. The situation was at least amusing.

Albeit the obvious right decision to part ways and leave Malfoy to his smugness, looking around, taking the happiness and politeness in the air at every corner of the room, she somehow felt more comfortable attacking her old schoolmate than debating how amazing the after-war measures had benefitted everyone.

"Harry's adoption centre is working marvellously, isn't it?". Cho Chang's syrupy tone was heard from across the room. The brunette giggled, followed by a group of one-time acquaintances. On her immaculate tight black dress, she owned those affected socialites.

Ginny discretely stretched her lean neck whilst searching for Cho’s date. Without further ado, she found him.
Harry hadn’t had his hair cut in a while. So, he played with the loose strands on the nape of his neck as he walked to the bar. He wasn’t that distant from where she was.

As Ginny gulped her drink, bitter nostalgia travelled down her throat.

Why was she complaining? She no longer had to attend fundraising events nor flatter those bloody sycophants. No more laughing’s at dumb jokes. She didn’t have to be the adorable plus-one to the celebrated hero. Enough with concealing her faults behind Harry’s honour. From now on, she wouldn’t stand at the great Harry Potter’s shadow. Her accomplishments should suffice in the future. Strangely, freedom wasn’t that sweet as she had envisioned.

"Weasley? Weasley?", the blonde's voice woke her from her thoughts and her gaze fell upon his increasingly angry traces. "Damn it, Weasley! Could you be more pathetic? First, you try to hit me - which was such a laughable attempt, by the way - then you start moping over Potter? What the hell did you do to achieve this prowess of getting dumped by such an arsehole?"
Malfoy's gesture transmitted rehearsed detachment with hints of childish mockery. That reminded her of her days at Hogwarts, when her major concerns included grades, Quidditch matches and how to beat the hell of his minions both out of and in the pitch. Draco’s pretended bravery never fooled the Ginny. Even at her first year, when he deliberately humiliated her twelve-year-old self to fulfil his thirst for attention. Attention which he used to say had been taken from him and given to Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived, according to him, was the epitome of phony abnegation.
Later, Draco’s loneliness had grown more obvious. He persisted on becoming this villain to fit in. As time went by, cruelty was merely self-defence. To protect his family, he had to kill. Not so surprisingly, he demonstrated no thirst for blood. What started as performance, turned into real suffering.

He was stuck in the middle, a harmless pawn disguised as an executioner. This dangerous game got him hit. By Potter, no less.
The mark of Harry's aggressive miscalculation still shone on his handsome face: a rosy slit colouring his pale skin. This glimpse of brutality mismatched his aquiline nose and elegant features. The years imposed a gravity to his demeanours. Pain and possibly atonement engraved from his forehead to his left cheek without much loss of charm. For some, his scars made him even more attractive: a sign of repentance, whilst for Ginny, the path toward redemption was still too far ahead. She used to think he still deserved a second chance, nonetheless. Malfoy had paid his dues with interests.

Despite maintaining most of his fortune, his name had kept its venom distilled by the gossipers everywhere. His presence was toxic and conviviality impossible for far too long inside their tight community. Fortunately, some wise decision made by his aunt Andromeda spared him more pain.
After the first half of his early youth in Azkaban, the other half he endured a long period of public alienation. One day, he disappeared. Away from his parents, from the UK, he travelled across Europe, studying and writing short tales of his discoveries on Herbology and Potions.

All had been published by a French editor who claimed having discovered the next literary gem of the century. She hadn’t been wrong. Not entirely. In France, his stories were a hit. In the UK, however, no publisher dared to print them. Nobody wished to be linked to the Malfoy name.

After three more years, the Malfoy only heir returned. He had become quieter and solitary. Without the majority of his friends, most of them imprisoned or dead, he relied on his remaining wit and others' indulgence to succeed.

Luckily, Arthur Weasley was one of the few wizards that appreciated the young man's efforts to become a better person. Hearing about a vacancy at the Ministry, the Weasley patriarch took a chance on the former Death Eater, offering him a job.
Ginny occasionally wondered how his current inferior position must have eaten her inside. When she first heard Draco Malfoy had accepted a position beneath his family name and status, she almost fell from her chair.

Had his time in Azkaban humbled him in some sort?

Since he didn’t need money. She assumed all Draco yearned was approval, a way in. So, there he was, in front of her, nonchalantly staring at her face as if nothing had changed at all.

"I wasn't dumped. Not that is any of your business!". She reassured him and herself as he continued to drink tiredly the content from his glass, just recently refilled.

"Whatever you say, Weasley." Draco shrugged his shoulders and repeated his annoying habit of smirking as if her anger was entertaining.

"And I'm not pathetic! I'm glad we're over. And what about you? Why would you care to come to my dad's homage?"
"He gave me a job. And as my mother raised me well, it is expected of me to come as a thankful gesture." At that response, Ginny was stunned. A Malfoy openly displaying gratitude. The world had definitely shifted.

“Besides, there's whiskey, reasonably nice music and pretty things to look at". He tried to deviate his stare from her at the last words, without much success. It was hard for him to admit how beautiful she looked that night despite Potter's awful effect on her. She used to be stronger and strikingly alive. It was burnt in his memory how he despised her feistiness, mostly because it brought his cowardness to light. She was just and fervent. Therefore, Potter's perfect match. A heroine to a saint.
But since his first day at work, he noticed Ginny Weasley's flamboyance started to die out.

Once, quietly supressing an aggressive commentary toward Granger when she disagreed with him on a dumb document's editing, he rushed to her office. It had been dumb. But who the hell this mudblood thought she was to resend his report, implying his research hadn’t been thorough? The last drop, bloody Granger had reached the last drop.

When he arrived at his destination, he was ready to tell some truths. With knuckles pressed and wrath boiling through his veins, he stormed in. ‘Bitch’, was his first thought when he realised she wasn’t in her office. Fury was immediately replaced by wonder as his gaze fell on the youngest Weasley. Distracted with some papers, she doodled aimlessly and rested her folded legs on a wooden chair. Ginny hadn’t been paying attention as she experimented some new muggle invention Draco had found on her dad’s office.

The gadgets played music to her ears only. They’d alienated from the rest of the room where Draco stood in complete silence. And there he remained for a quick while, watching her either place her quill behind her ear or bite it. Her distant thoughts led her to taint her upper lips with an ink stain. Which made him chuckle.
The blob bitter taste woke her up to reality.

Fearing been found, the blonde left. In his mind, her reckless image was printed permanently. Just as indelible were his wonderings of how nice would it be to touch those lips with his own. He had pushed those ideas away. Until that night.
The following weeks he observed her sad glance as she ate lunch, always accompanied by Granger. The other witch used to speak enthusiastically while the redhead barely nodded --slowly allowing the sun to reflect on her messy ponytail, creating a kaleidoscope of coppery lights around her. Potter himself also used to come with Ron Weasley to take both girls out. Again, Ginny stood a foot apart, no longer bothering to take her supposedly boyfriend's hand. The latter seemed clueless to what was happening.

Draco was the only one who saw her, sinking deeper in her sorrow. He was baffled by noticing how he felt no joy as the sole keeper of this secret. Deep inside, he knew that the real scoop was the rare smiles he’d witnessed from afar.
Suddenly, Potter stopped visiting. And Draco's unconscious hope was lit. Unlike his predictions, Ginny’s behaviour didn’t change drastically. Apart from an increasing amount of alone time, her wandering gazes and weak sighs remained a constant. The only variable, he stalking-ly noticed, was how much more often she had worn her hair down and, of course, her stubborn custom of putting some cheap jumpers on every other day. Apparently, despite her family’s new status, she hadn’t thrown away her old rags. Poverty reminded her of comfort, he thought.
Remembering her aloof twin brothers, he concluded that madness was, after all, in her genes.

«I guess it’s nice that you’re here, then. Even if it’s only a matter of etiquette. » Ginny’s casually replied, this time, bringing Draco back from his own mind. His presence began to seem less disturbing. Actually, his annoyance sounded familiar. A fond memory of childish rivalry embraced her. For the first time in ages, her own failures didn’t haunt her. She owed Malfoy nothing. She could finally exhale.

«This night hasn’t been that terrible. There were fewer insults, less whispering... I consider that a victory”. The blonde let out a sarcastic grin and faked a winning gesture with his hands, almost spilling some of his drink.

«Don’t be so dramatic! As we speak, there are dozens of young and older witches fantasizing about you! You are the forbidden fruit, the bad guy. Some girls dig this rotten background of yours. The poor ladies want to change you. » Ginny took humour as a way out of their common grief whereas Draco eyes widened at her bold jokes. Little Weasley knew how to play.

He proceeded, glad for her light approach. Instead of menacing to go, he took a few steps closer to her, both of them starting to feel the air thinning. «And you don’t believe I can change, I suppose? »

Never breaking their stares, Ginny found herself having trouble finding the words. «I don’t...know. I mean, people can never really change, but we can make better choices. » The blonde slowly caught her breath and, only moving his eyes from hers to her lips, he inhaled the cheap perfume from her hair, taking her right hand. Shockingly, she didn’t fight him, letting his fingers to wander through her skin. Excitement turned on all of her senses.
“You’re maybe right. So, tell me, Weasley, which girl should I choose, then? » Ginny’s thoughts alerted her of the threatening course she was about to take. His flirtatious tone disguised his true desire to laugh at her expense. «I must go. I am too... What have you said, again? Oh, yes, I exude this “bad guy vibe”. I am dangerous, poisonous. How could you stand someone that disgusting? You prefer saints, like Potter.”

The sound of thin glass breaking could probably have been heard at that instant. Their delicate connection being torn as their quick giddy conversation took an unbearable turn.
“You are, in fact, quite contagiously evil. And I won’t buy your teasing. Go find some doe-eyed masochist to disturb! » Ginny’s words were harsh and, for some seconds, she wished she hadn’t said them. It wasn’t fair to continue reminding him of this marred essence that he couldn’t erase. However, he had deserved it.

« What’s with you and Harry? Why this dumb fixation? » With that, she retrieved her hand and used it to punch him in the gut. «Actually, I do not prefer saints! I just don’t like you! » In awe, Malfoy took this stroke discretely, opening his mouth with a low gasp of pain.

Draco’s initially sarcastic response was replaced by real disappointment when he saw her go away. He hadn’t had the time to defend himself. Even if she did stay, he knew no words would have changed how she felt.

Regardless of how often Draco denied being (slightly) jealous of Harry’s noble past, he couldn’t help wishing he had made some of his choices. No, Draco no longer wanted Potter’s fame and recognition. It might sound odd, but he also enjoyed being part of a dark side, snakish, defying, cunning...

It was not like Draco was ashamed of his fortune or his name. He embraced his flaws and learnt the hard way not to replicate his mistakes. But sometimes, waking up to his lame job - guaranteeing Muggles’ safety, no less – and watching a beautiful girl reject him, he just imagined how would it be like whether he was kinder or mellower. Well, if he acted more like Potter.
The unattainable fantasy hit him when her flaming mane moved further in the room, leaving in her prior spot a fruity scent. Mixed with his already warm Firewhiskey, her void burnt his throat until an early state of inebriation and deception.

The morning in the Ministry had begun in midst of a turmoil. Hermione’s proposal to change how house elves were freed was about to be presented and voted that afternoon. It certainly looked like the whole magical community had been requested to partake in that decision. The situation was chaotic, yet exhilarating.

Ginny herself had never seen so many people/magical creatures at the Ministry’s entrance hall since the Death Eaters’ arrests. While the latter had been just as effervescent - dark wizards and affiliated were spat at, condemned and sent to Azkaban -, the former presented an open space for argument, rhetoric. Ironic how both involved freedom vs detainment. Fortunately, the current one emanated hope whereas its predecessor ended in punishment and shackles.

The youngest Weasley after a lot bumping into grumpy goblins and loud witches finally reached her office’s door. « Thank Merlin », she said seconds before Hermione entered hastily the room to leave her bag before running to the courtroom where the audience was supposed to happen. Ginny wasn’t really a high-level employee, therefore hadn’t been invited; which gave her some quiet time. Needless to say, besides the whole life changing event to elves and whatever Hermione proclaimed repeatedly, the occasion provided her space to work at her own pace. Translation: not work at all. Why file those documents today when she could do that tomorrow?

Instead of actually doing her job and keeping up with the news in the auditorium, Ginny decided to go for a hot chocolate. With whipped cream. And a blueberry muffin. Her stomach reminded her what her brain had forgotten: she hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before at her dad’s tribute. The encounter with Malfoy and its emotional rollercoaster made her lose her appetite. Thankfully, past the confusing interaction, the evening ended smoothly: her dad made his speech, people applauded and greeted him, Rita Skeeter’s assistant took a family photo, Ginny hugged all Weasleys (toddlers, mostly) and returned to the Burrow early.

In fact, describing running into Harry and Cho as ‘smooth’ was quite a euphemism. However, it hadn’t been as excruciating as she had imagined. That made Ginny put her reaction upon hearing Malfoy barely mentioning her ex-boyfriend in a whole new perspective. Maybe Ginny did not feel jealous. Maybe she got hurt when the tall-platinum-haired smug picked at her wounds, past and present. An oxymoronic relationship at her part, when it progressively stung watching Harry love her and others. How damaged was she not to reciprocate his affection?

The short walk towards the food trolley two floors above seemed longer while her memory drifted her to her Hogwarts times. She had dreamed of Harry’s adoration for years as a young girl. But time turned everything upside down and Harry no longer felt like the right guy for her. And most importantly, she wasn’t the right girl for him.

The redhead suddenly felt tired. Tired of how she succumbed onto mediocrity. She got lazy, hopeless. She fell and no reaching hand seemed to pull her up. There was no one to blame but her. What would she pay to be mad at some stupid Slytherin for her grieving soul?

Maturity wasn’t a path she felt like threading, apparently.

The sweet odours caressed her nose indicating the trolley’s proximity and her brain got excited at the prospect of nourishment. To her misfortune, some greyish blonde head interrupted the caramelly tones of the pastries. That time, her hunger was as strong as her cravings for some argument and she didn’t change her way.

Draco had actually noticed Ginny’s closeness way before. He had also gotten bored by the current elf situation, deciding to leave his desk for a while, hoping to meet her, even from afar. He remembered wishing to become a bit like a « softy ». Perhaps it had come true.

The blonde came home regretting some harmful things he had said to Ginny. Nevertheless, Malfoy’s burden had become too heavy to carry, so he called it the night. Sooner or later he would have to sleep. He chose the former, for his health's sake.

Remorse was more like a day-to-day activity as he and his mother moved on with their lives. They’ve learnt how to camouflage it so well their conscience had started to feel lighter.

Narcissa had left Azkaban and found refuge at the manor before her son. She entertained herself doing some occasional shopping at the Diagonal Alley. Frivolous, shiny things. They were reminders, tokens, of her luxurious life. Their glimmer contrasted to her stale mornings.

For so long, he believed, she had felt terribly alone. She endured it quietly, stoic.

During his first months of liberty, she had found consolation solely on Draco’s existence. But recently, after her sister Andromeda cordially had invited her to some innocuous tea, she discovered a new group of female friends.

He could see it wasn’t easy for neither of them to let go of some old habits: pretending to like mudbloods, flatter blood traitors, smile, apologize, nod...

Once, Draco questioned his mother if she should keep seeing those inferior people out of plain sight. Narcissa’s sad gaze fell on him as she calmly answered that that sort of assertive caused them nothing but pain, so it was time to change perspectives. It did not mean to disrespect their manners or dishonour their ancestors, either. It meant to build a new Malfoy foundation. They wouldn’t be sloppier, they would be kinder, more tolerant. What ideals of purity and superiority would bring them apart from the disappearance of their own name? Malfoys were ambitious. And ambition entailed survival through goodness as well as through wickedness.

Since his father had previously chosen the latter, Draco took a risk on goodness this time. And after a few struggles, it already felt a thousand times harder, even more when Ginny’s presence was involved. He had become intrigued by her luminosity. It was ridiculous, he knew, how she shone through a thick layer of aggressiveness. And dirty freckles.

Her father, once filthy Weasley, had taken the higher ground and forgave his past in order to a fairer society. He took him under his wing, almost. Although Draco was supposed to begin from down below, no one dared to threat or belittle him. That had been his doing: the gentle blood traitor.

Then, against his better judgment, Draco’s took interest on the man’s daughter. Reminiscences of her Quidditch days at school and how ardently she dealt with boys turned on some dormant desires he had repressed during his Azkaban years. It was about time he took some action on this matter.

While he agonised at prison, the boy-who-lived-and-saved-the-fucking-world had the girl and left her at her worst. How could someone so harmless have wounded her essence? Being with someone entailed shielding them and all Draco had seen was annihilation.

Deep down Draco acknowledged he was the culprit regarding too many issues to brag about this exceptional instance of alleged innocence. Nonetheless, it was nice to presume that he hadn’t been responsible for destroying something. He bullied, mocked, constantly humiliated poorer wizards, especially Weasleys. In some way, he hadn’t managed to crush them that badly. This time, Potter was the one worth vilipending.

« Are you following me, Weasley? », Draco smirked.

« You wish, Malfoy. You just happen to be on my way to the food. I won’t starve because of you. », the redhead replied, settling herself closely behind him. He ordered a black coffee, getting himself his beverage and followed his first sip with a head nod, indicating that she should go ahead.

Ginny frowned at him and finally grabbed her snack. She hadn’t lied. She was starving. The first gulp of her hot chocolate descended through her throat releasing a jolt of joy. The new glucose injection eventually silenced her stomach. That day already started to feel a bit better.

When Ginny dug her hand inside her messy wallet, catching up some sickles (one by one, and, at times, mistaken by a few loose balls of thread), Draco intervened, speaking directly to the salesman « For her purchase and mine. You can keep the change ». Nonchalantly, he placed the coins on the counter and kept walking.

Ginny’s reaction was a bit delayed by her astonishment. She followed the blonde with an intense stare, not sure of what to respond.

« Are you going to keep staring at me? Don’t you have better things to do?”, Draco said between his smug grins.

“Why would you do that? You realise I can pay for my own food.”

“You were taking forever with your ridiculous purse. »

“I was not taking forever!”, Ginny protested to more smirks.

«You were. The poor salesman almost killed himself waiting. Besides, I owe you one.”, the blonde insisted, watching glimpses of confusion spread on her face « Your father. He gave me this job. He’s a Weasley. You’re a Weasley. My debt is paid. », he explained as if it was so obvious even a child could infer it.

« You owe me nothing, Malfoy. In fact, my dad doesn’t expect anything from you, either. Your misery, having to report to Hermione every day is enough satisfaction for both of us. »

Draco gazed at the corner of her lips turning upwards, feeling warmer. So many years in Azkaban, travelling alone, he’d forgotten this welcoming sensation. It was...good.

“I don’t know how you put up with this mudblo...”, he restrained himself at her chastising look, noticing she didn’t have her muffin on her hands. “Have you already eaten? All of it? That thing was enormous! ». She was still chewing, too busy to respond. «The pastries sold here are nothing compared to Madam Puddifoot’s. My mother loves her raspberry scones. She makes me buy a dozen every day. By now, I thought she would have gotten tired of them, but she hasn’t. It’s an old people thing, I suppose.”

Ginny paid curious attention to him. His tone was sweet, affectionate. He didn’t sound like a Malfoy.

She swallowed her muffin, loudly. He laughed.

« It’s hard to break habits. Like me insulting you. », Ginny began, walking side by side with Draco a little further from the trolley.

« Exactly. Always a matter of taste»

They suddenly stopped by an indoors garden. Silence lingered briefly. They gazed at some glistening flowers that emanated a sweet perfume. If it was a decade before, they’d be killing each other. Now, they've allowed themselves to understand their rival, both aware of how their journey up to that moment had been, to say the least, lugubrious.

« Do you still think about pursuing a career in Quidditch? You were a Chuddley Cannons fans, weren’t you? », Draco timidly started a conversation, leading the way to some sitting spots.

« I support the Harpies. And no. All coaches have already made pretty clear that they don’t want me. » It was an upsetting subject to Ginny, but she sensed the allusion wasn’t an attack per se. He sounded genuinely curious. Thus, she replied with honesty as well.

« They didn’t want me either. An ex-prisoner isn’t exactly good publicity », he added, following her gaze to the ground. She moved anxiously her feet, rolling her index finger up then down over her thumb. An unexpected bond arose between them: shame. «They must have been blind. It hurts to admit it, but you were a great player. Better than most of my Slytherin mates »

« I’ve peaked at school, I guess. A rhapsody of decay. And I can’t throw the Azkaban card, like you », she elbowed his abdomen, chuckling at her sickening joke.

« ‘Azkaban card’? All my youth on a dungeon and you call it the ‘Azkaban card’? », Draco argued, raising his arms.

« You’ve done bad things, Malfoy. Sometimes I think your punishment was too cruel. Sometimes I wish you hadn’t been locked away, but your actions did hurt people in an irreparable way», Draco listened quietly. At different times, he would have humiliated her, made her pay. Now, looking into her merciful eyes, he gave in.

There was no need to pretend he had been incorruptible. He wasn’t the cruellest villain, but he wasn’t innocent either. The first step towards amendments was recognition.

« Have I hurt you? Irreparably?”, he pried, hoping to hear Potter's or Voldemort's name instead. He held his breath, impatiently waiting for exemption.

« No. Not directly… Your Death Eaters friends tried 'though... Rebuilding life after war was difficult. There were some wounds that we chose to hide so they would heal faster. Eventually they reappeared and we were supposed to treat them. But sometimes the cure didn’t feel that good either. You know, I used to expect Fred’s return as if his disappearance had been just one of his pranks… Coming back to a reality where he was gone was heart-breaking, but also necessary”, Ginny paused, realising she’d talked too much. It had been ages since she’d spoken about Hogwarts’ battle aftermath so candidly. Everyone around her had suffered too much. They all deserved a break. Her, included.

Draco listened, uncertain if he should apologize on his Death-Eaters behalf, on his behalf. On some degree he had hurt the woman before him. Potter wasn’t the greatest culprit after all.

“I'm babbling. Sorry. Anyway, you can cross me out of your list of victims, okay? », lifting her head cautiously, she tried to lighten the mood. She was aware that she always leant towards escapism. She’d even fled from growing up. For instance, at the moment, she’s been facing her late adulthood’s consequences.

« I'm not really counting. I prefer not to poke on ancient scars. You might not believe me but Malfoys bruise too”, he grinned and she briefly thought it wasn’t right of him to deny all the atrocities he’d provoked. Or at least hadn’t prevented. However, why would she torture him?

She felt at ease with him. It didn’t seem right to sacrifice their fragile connection for the taste of bloody justice. Or revenge. He'd been incarcerated, he bled in all papers. She wouldn’t be the one to drain him dry.

So, Ginny chose nurturing over annihilation.

“Oh, I believe it. Your eye bags are proof of your deteriorating humanity”

He sat beside her. She giggled gleefully, aware of his real appearance. Although he indeed had some slightly purple shadows below his eyes, they hadn’t diminished any fraction of his handsomeness. At that moment, the midday sun drew light stripes over his face as if framing it in a painting. The epitome of beauty. Maculated. But beauty nonetheless.

“Trivia: we, Malfoys, have bad breaths in the morning and we conceal our shameful past with proud denial instead of actual repentance.” Draco noticed her staring at him and started to analyse her as well. He’d been hypothesizing for so long how it would feel to actually look at her, make her laugh, that when it finally happened, it felt surreal. He was walking on a thin thread. At any instant, she would insult him and all would come back to normal.

“You might joke about it, but I believe you’re denying your brand-new asset: kindness. You can do great things, selfless, even. I can feel it”

Fortunately, she gave him a few seconds to spare. He looked up, hanging in there. The abyss beneath his rope felt less menacing. She genuinely thought he could be good. For now, it was enough for him to believe it too.

“Well, I can succeed at everything. That’s a fact.”, he joked, “You know, Weasley, you can do things too. Not as grand as I can, but, even so.”

Ginny’s sun-bathed irises closed. He missed the brownish orbs as she deeply sighed. The young woman reacted as if she’d been hit.

“No, I can’t... Please, I don’t really want to talk about it “, Ginny replied, motionless. ‘Why would he say that?’, she thought. False flattering only made things worse. But how would he know? He had been spoiled his whole life. He actually believed all compliments he’d received were an attestation of truth.

Draco had no time to argue as a horde of witches and wizards rushed through the corridor. Suddenly, Draco and Ginny found themselves smothered by the cacophony of the crowd. With just an exchange of understanding looks, they split.

They knew it was too soon to expose their... Both couldn’t fathom what was going on. Even so, they didn’t want to lose it.

An unspoken agreement was settled as they were swallowed by the multitude. With a blink of an eye, the silent refuge was replaced by effervescent altercations on the voting that had had place at the auditorium. Ginny tried with no success to find Draco amongst the sea of people. Little did she know he had returned to same spot they’ve rested previously. Draco watched the flowing flowers and frowned. The sweet aroma was gone.

Hermione discussed with Ron how unreasonable the “Anti-Clothes” party (how they’ve named the anti-house elves liberation supporters) reacted. According to the brunette, they’ve played dirty. ‘Not cordial and disrespectful to all creatures’, she almost yelled. Ginny observed the commotion and still couldn’t read the verdict.

“So? You lost?”, the redhead asked naively.

“I’ve won nothing, the elves, however, can finally be free whenever they desire to. This barbaric tradition is finally over”, Hermione was appalled yet could not hide her happiness. It had been six years of persistence, pushing the house elves liberation proposal to every Ministry Department chief until eventually someone reasonable actually read it. “It’s not over, ‘though. We got to convince the beneficiaries of this measure to exercise it.”, she proudly continued, already rambling through new ideas.

“No, Mione. This is over for today. We’ve won! It’s time to celebrate! What about some drinks and a match tonight?”, Ron interrupted, hugging his girlfriend. He looked content. A childish smile covered his face and Ginny couldn’t help imitating. “You should come, Ginny. It’s not a date or anything. We’ve already invited George, and Harry”.

“Oh, Harry and Cho are gonna be there? I’m definitely coming!”, she said, poisoned with sarcasm. She wasn’t that bothered by meeting Harry anymore, but felt like it was appropriate to keep up with this performance. It was easier than starting a friendship with her ex. Their break up circumstances had been kind of messy. She just didn’t want to deal with them anymore.

“I think you should go, Ginny. For me.”, Hermione threw her arms around Ginny’s shoulder, pulling her closer.

“For the elves!”, Ron screamed, throwing his arms up in the air. That until he was punched in the gut by his girlfriend who called him out on his reckless behaviour. An “Ouch!” was heard as the poor man moaned, in pain.

“Shut up, Ron. This is a workplace, not your house!”, Hermione added, ignoring his protests.

He whimpered and gave up on chanting.

“Harry would have joined me. You’ll see, tonight we’re going to yell our brains out”.

The girls laughed whereas Ron decided to soothe himself with a slice of fruit cake, mumbling ‘buzzkillers!’ as he walked away.

Hermione told everything that happened inside the courtroom while waiting for Ron finish his snack. Behind the closed doors, the discussions had gotten pretty heated, especially when Amos Diggory dared questioning the issue's relevance. His patronising statement was the last drop to drive Ron to crazy-lane. The latter rushed to defend Hermione’s point of view and felt his rage escalade quite quickly when Percy followed the former’s lead, calling the proposal a 'dismiss to traditions'. Things would have gotten physical if Arthur Weasley’s hadn’t intervened.

“I wish I had seen it. Percy says he has changed but he’s still the same conservative arsehole. He deserved a nice kick in the ass. If I was there, I would have knocked him out”, said Ginny.

“I know you would. You are like Ron: irascible”, the brunette added casually.

It felt like forever since the last time Ginny had been called ‘irascible’ or ‘feisty’. She had no recollection of ever deserving it.

In fact, Ginny hadn’t been fighting much lately. She still had been losing, ‘though: confidence, hope and drive.

Currently, she saved her strengths to nodding and smiling. It was for the best, she figured.

It didn’t take too long until Ron and Hermione goodbyed, heading back to their respective offices. Ginny chose to enjoy the rooms’ atmosphere for a little while.

Within seconds, most of the wizards had walked way. Snippets of the hall’s floor’s drawings could be seen again as the groups parted. Peaceful contemplation inundated Ginny as she regarded the tiles’ colours and rejoiced at the deafening noise of the crowd.

A miscellanea of topics captured her attention. From malfunctioning transfigurations to counterfeit Veritaserum potions, she delved in conversations in which she did not partake. And it felt liberating.

Their cacophony rescued her from her own judgement. Finally, a breath of fresh air for a pair of lungs clogged by guilt.

She should get back to work.

Unwillingly, she hurried to her office.

When she arrived, the mail had already been laid on her desk. Nothing unusual: the Daily Prophet subscription and some work-related letters… She perused trough the envelopes until a dark green one intrigued her. It had been sealed with a serpent-ish blazon, that she recklessly ripped apart. Patience wasn’t her forte.

She hadn’t kept in touch with any Slytherin ex-student, which led her to the alarming conclusion: ‘Malfoy! Dear lord, it is Malfoy's'.

Draco’s cursive letter was like himself, elegant and old-fashioned. The message was succinctly written on expensive paper. Typical of a Malfoy to throw away money on stationery.

Dear Weasley,

In face of our last discussion, I hope you’ll accept my gift as a reminder of your talent.

Don’t overthink it. This is not another share of my debt. I’ve already paid my dues when I watched you devour that poor muffin like a starved dragon. That image will haunt me forever.

Now, deeply traumatized,

- D.M.

Ginny reread the parchment's content thoroughly. Twice. Then again.

It was a prank. Definitely, it was a prank.

She assessed the envelope with numerous protection spells. Nothing. It wasn’t hexed. She examined again the green folds and there it was, the mysterious content. No dead mouse or stinky bomb.

It was a ticket to a Holyhead Harpies vs Chudley Cannons match. Scheduled to that night.

Somehow, this happened to be a bigger disaster.

Rethinking the whole scenario, she prayed for the remote possibility of Draco offering her a single ticket. He wouldn’t be there. It was a gift, a friendly gesture, not a date. No, not a date. He wasn’t even a Harpies fan, so why would he be there?

At the end of her working hours, Ginny had come to a conclusion: she’d been avoiding the Harpies’ matches for years, what could has possibly changed now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Besides, it was a present from Malfoy. That information alone was enough to persuade her into refusing it. That was a trick. Some plan to humiliate her before her whole family.

The redhead collected her things and ran from her office to avoid talking to Hermione or any member of the Weasley clan. Easy.

Already at the Ministry's entrance hall, she could almost hear fireworks.

She had escaped!

Not really.

When Ginny pushed the revolving doors, leaving the building, she was trapped between the glassy material and Harry’s body. The proverb ‘when it rains, it pours’ came to mind.

“Hey Ginny! Is everything okay?”, Harry repeated the usual custom of hugging her tight. She returned the affection regardless the shock.

‘Shit’, she thought out loud.

“What did you say?”

“Great! I’m great! So… Are you waiting for Ron?” Ginny casually asked as a not so convinced Harry decided to move on.

“No, they’ve already left to the game. They’ve sent me to force you to come”, he replied with natural warmth, “We’re not accepting ‘no’ for an answer. Don’t worry, Cho is running some errands with her friends and won’t be with us tonight.”

Ginny let a low ‘Oh’ in agreement and gave up on passing on the invitation. She was already screwed. There was no reason denying it.

Harry lifted his forearm and Ginny threw her own around his elbow. They looked at each other tenderly, unaffected by the physical contact.

“To the game?”, he asked amusingly.

“To the game!”, Ginny added in false excitement. At that, the couple apparated to the pitch’s Portkey.

Truth was that Harry was a gentleman. When they landed on the pitch’s surroundings, he checked if she was okay, concerned if the travel hadn’t troubled her too much. As they continued their promenade between the painted supporters, cheering and chanting, he bought a Cannons’ coloured top hat for himself and for her, he got a Harpies’ scarf, since she’d forgotten hers. During the last couple months, the memories of Harry as a boyfriend had become blurrier. In spite of her efforts to smother them, after one only manifestation of kindness from his part, they got stronger, more pungent than ever. She could try denying it, but he was the best boyfriend for whom she could’ve ever wished.

He was sweet and caring. Whenever anyone needed him, he measured no efforts to help. His selfless nature had always made her proud. At least until his grandeur began to bring light to how little she was.

She’d morphed into this petty, pitiful creature. Bitterness ate her viscera up until no good was left.

Ginny couldn’t remember if he knew she’d been lost. She cried every day: when she failed on her first exam, after every try-out, waking up, at work… Obvious, oblivious tears.

Harry was busy. He had too much on his plate and Ginny knew it wasn’t fair to dish out all of her of problems on his.

Day by day she began missing the words on conversations. She grew so accustomed to the silence she couldn’t finish statements; deliberately started phrases and inhaled all predicaments. What else would she say that could actually add value to any dialogue? If she tried to explain how it hurt, would anyone understand?

Now, looking at Harry’s childish laugh, she shook off all grieving memories. Ginny pushed the troubling images of her meltdown to a corner in her mind; images of when all exploded. Exhaustion had burst through her walls. She stifled on a ball of mucus, sadness and shame. Said bezoar had been rolling in her stomach until she finally had the guts to throw it up.

Ginny recalled his reaction with morbid details: how she had explained they ought to end the hurting cycle she’d imposed on him, and her. He had proposed working through it, helping her. She refused. Ginny couldn’t be saved. She wanted him free from her caustic presence.

A few months later, Harry met Cho. The brunette had come out of a difficult divorce and just wanted to be loved. She was a healer and engaged to a large number of charitable causes. Comprehensive, giving. Simple.

Match made in heaven. Meanwhile, Ginny burnt in her personal suite in hell.

“Are you okay, Ginny? You seem quiet…”, Harry tilted his head down to meet her eye level.

“I’m fine”, she answered politely.

“Are you sure? I know you tend to internalize. Don’t mind sharing. I swear I can take it.”

He sounded concerned. Ginny sighed. She just didn’t want to poke on open wounds.

“You’re tough, Potter. I know that. But I reassure you I’m more than fine. I’m g-r-e-a-t. I’m excited for the game”, he intended to cut her, but she continued “Is Angelina Johnson still on the team? I heard she’d been injured”.

With that, she evaded, brushing his arm fondly. Harry would be fine; she could feel it.

“Oh, she’s going to play today. The Harpies’ new coach gave an interview yesterday to Linus and said she’s fully recovered. The Cannons are going to work harder tonight, their new chasers haven’t performed well, lately. I dare to say they’ve been winning by luck”, Harry replied glad he could share his sports’ knowledge with someone else. Ginny sensed he’d been itching to spill that all out and hadn’t found anyone truly interested.

On some level, Ginny was content she could still make him a tad happier.

Watching the time, the two raced to the stadium gates. Harry casually volunteered to buy their tickets and a distracted Ginny almost revealed he didn’t have to buy hers since she already had one. Without much thought, she’d unconsciously decided to use Malfoy’s gift.

A rare instant of reason saved her. Whether she had told Harry the truth, she would have released a flood of questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. Neither he would be prepared to hear them.

Pretending nonchalance, she offered to purchase the controversial tickets while he grabbed something to drink. He innocently agreed. Disaster averted.

As she walked to the box offices, she exhaled. Deeply.

Clearly, she hadn’t been thinking. For she knew what a bad liar she was. If she dared to initiate such a performance, she would perish miserably. Better to avoid the storytelling.

The redhead then smiled anxiously at the thought of explaining to Harry that Draco Malfoy had given her a present and that she deliberately accepted. ‘He would be thrilled. Maybe he would invite him over for dinner’, she muttered to herself, words soaked in sarcasm.

Ginny had just exited the box office queue when she saw Draco talking to her brother George from afar. She frowned, utterly confused, and kept moving the opposite direction. First, she had to find Harry. Later she would deal with this alternate universe she’d fallen into.

To her despair, George caught a glimpse of her flaming mane amongst the crowd. Ginny cringed, praying out loud not to be called out. He screamed.

Today was her lucky, lucky day.

George lifted her baby sister up high on a playful embrace while Malfoy watched the display of affection visibly amused. ‘He is an only child. He wouldn’t understand it’, she said to herself.

“Hello to you too, George”, she landed not so gracefully and immediately started to tide up her skirts. Thanks to her brother, she was all ruffled up. In front of Malfoy. ‘Way to go, George!’

“Hello Weasley”, Draco greeted between his usual smirks.

“Hello Malfoy”, Ginny responded, avoiding eye contact. This whole dynamic between the two of them weirded her out. They were not nothing to each other. Nonetheless, they were not anything either.

“I wouldn’t take you for a Cannons’ fan”, she unfastened her tongue tie.

“Oh, he’s not, Gin, he just told me he’s here for the Harpies.”, George explained to his sister who couldn’t hide her bewilderment.

It simply wasn’t expected of Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater and ex-bully to support an all-female team. Her easiest assumption would be some thuggish, an all-Viktrom Krum lookalikes, squad.

“My mother is an old investor and a passionate supporter of the Harpies. We’ve won a couple of tickets for tonight. Since Azkaban is closed for parties, I’ve decided to come”, Draco restrained a strong laugh as he watched Ginny deepen her stunned reaction. His clarification had been a direct effort to tease her. Her gaping mouth and wide eyes gave him jolts of pleasure; a delightful sensation of a job well done.

“You are funny bastard, Malfoy”, chuckled George, breaking the awkwardness and elbowing Draco’s stomach in childish playfulness. “You shouldn’t joke about shit like that in front of our dad ‘though”.

“He won’t”, added Ginny, this time, staring at the blonde as she let a grin slip from her lips. He locked eyes with her; then both found themselves transported elsewhere. Their connection worked as a telepathic bond. She felt the piece of paper he’d given her burning inside her pocket, imagining he’d probably tricked his own mother so she would have it. He, on the other side of the bridge, enjoyed himself as he realised how rewarding it was catching her off guard.

“Hey Gin, did you see Harry? Ron had told me you were coming with him tonight”, George demolished their fragile link while Ginny cursed internally.

She could feel Draco’s disappointment as she turned to George to explain Harry must had been looking for her. She’d left the poor guy alone, probably with warm butterbeer glasses on his hands.

She was not only a petty person. She was a shitty human being.

George then volunteered to rescue their castaway friend, leaving Ginny to the awkward silence that always preceded a catastrophe.

“So, you are friends with my brothers, now?”, she decided to tear the discomfort apart with her own hands.

“So, are you with Potter, now?”, Draco attempted a comeback.

“Who do you think you are, Malfoy? You can’t possibly be jealous!”, this time, it was Ginny’s turn to strike him. She was, indeed, right. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t her friend. He was… Malfoy, the mischievous bastard that annoyed her at school.

“Who do YOU think you are, Weasley? To think I’d be jealous! Spare me of your gigantic ego!”

He screamed. She was fueled with wrath. Both restrained themselves as they figured out they were in a public facility and could easily be mistaken for a bickering couple.

“MY ego? You are the one who is acting like a peacock, showing your fluffy tail because you’ve inherited seats for a fucking Quidditch game!”, Ginny spat on a forcefully muttering tone at a decreasingly choleric Malfoy.

“Peacock? What’s wrong with you? I gave you the damn ticket so you could have some fun. And you choose to rekindle your miserable relationship with bloody Potter?”, he argued, this time, with a disarming laugh. Amid the craziness, Draco couldn’t help noticing how funny she looked, waving her arms, knifing the air. In the heat of the moment, she’d even emulated a peacock’s feathers bouncing with nothing more than her hands behind her back. She was quite an actress.

The youngest Weasley was already out of herself when the blonde broke into laughter. Suddenly, she couldn’t yell anymore. Involuntarily, her mouth moved upwards as well. The whole situation was so nonsensical she didn’t bother fighting it.

Ridiculous Malfoy, why was he doing that to her? Trying to drive her insane?

“Harry is with Cho, idiot! Haven’t I told a million times I’ve broken up with him? Besides, why do you care?”, Ginny replied amongst repressed giggles. She couldn’t understand what was so funny. Against all common sense, tears of laughter began to sparkle on her amber eyes.

Was he actually jealous? Or was he just nourishing the same old rivalry between him and Harry?

Ginny couldn’t say. Neither could Draco. Malfoy hated Potter. And would despise him for all his life. This was marked on his skin deeper than the Dark Mark itself. But now, he began to doubt what mattered the most: hurting Potter or preventing little Weasley from getting hurt.

This strange protective side pushed him to reaching out her lower hands. Controlling the sudden impulse, he bounced back. It wasn’t the right time. From a fair distance, he could see Potter and her brother getting nearer. Albeit his inner desires to appease her, write off his mistakes, there was too much animosity on their pathway. Either they moved back or forward.

The former Slytherin was aware that he’d always be ranked on the archenemy category. Meanwhile, Potter would forever collect the prizes. No matter how hard he softened his manners. Or caressed her temples until the memories of his bully days were completely obliviated.

Draco Malfoy couldn’t fool himself thinking he would morph into a lion when he was a serpent. He just chose not to stifle or poison, hoping that would suffice.

“I’m not friends with your brother. He saw me speaking to one of the Harpies’ beaters and approached me. He was trying to flirt with her and I introduced them… You’re welcome, Weasley”, yet sometimes, Draco dropped some venom, a few harmless anecdotes to lighten the mood.

“Weasleys are famous for their ineptitude at dating”, Ginny confessed as Draco recollected himself from his pretending curtsy.

“You certainly aren’t inept at flirting.”

“Because I got Harry? Please, I thought we’d finished this argument”, she returned to an alert state of indecisive anger. Draco drove her mad with all this infuriating mockery alternated by supressed displays of kindness.

“Well, you said yourself you’ve dumped him. But I was I referring to your long list of conquests and broken hearts at Hogwarts”, he teased amusingly.

“I hadn’t even talked to most of my Hogwarts ‘conquests’, as you call them. Let alone break their hearts.”, she said in naïve honesty.

“I knew it. You were a man-eater. Chapeau, Weasley. Chapeau!”, he applauded, removing an invisible hat from his head, bowing in fake chivalry, “Tell me, Weasley, did someone break yours? Potter? Thomas?”, he mocked, leaning a bit closer, placing his hand on his ear, pretending it was their secret.

“No one can break what is already broken”, Ginny’s words slipped from her mouth without much thinking. There was something about Malfoy that freed her soul from the social constraints. It made no exclusions: whether her best or her worst, all poured out of her when he was around. Veritaserum wouldn’t be that efficient.

As Harry and George reached them out, Ginny’s last words lingered in the air. Draco urged to respond, but felt pressured not to. Potter was the one to blame, always arriving at the worst possible time. The brunette’s presence made his blood boil with rage. However, since everyone remained cordial, he chose to take the higher ground as well.

The group walked towards the stadium talking friendly, hoping to meet Hermione and Ron inside. The conversation shifted from the house elves amendment Hermione had approved earlier that afternoon -- the chaos, the yelling and nearly fist fight inside the courtroom – to what was the most disgusting flavoured bean they’d ever tasted. Even Draco participated (slug slime), despite some crossed looks from an equally disgusted Harry. They reached no consensus.

Ginny gave Harry the ticket she’d just bought and watched him and George rush to their seats. Ron and Hermione had waved at them from not that far away, already accommodated. She was about to follow them when she turned around and met Draco’s eyes. They hid something she couldn’t decipher.

The redhead looked at Draco, inquiringly.

Ginny then discovered he would not join them. His seat was for a different sector, reserved for players’ family and donors only, probably.

Her heart sank. Deep down, she didn’t want him to leave.

She looked at her own ticket and saw him blinking at her. A mix of sensations invaded her. ‘Oh, no’, was all she could think, however.

Ginny had no time to process what was about to happen; because with no second thought, Draco took her hand and led her somewhere else. Suddenly, she was much closer to the pitch she’d ever been.

Albeit her friends and family’s abrupt separation, she couldn’t weigh down the situation. They would be concerned about her, miss her… Meanwhile, Malfoy stood a foot away from her, grinning.

All this mess made her dizzy. A good dizzy ‘though.

The colours were more vibrant and the players less blurry than she’d ever witnessed from her usual seats, a lot higher and further away from where she stood. It felt great to be that kind of rich.

Within seconds, the pre-game started.

One by one, the Holyhead Harpies girls flew away, waving to the bleachers, inflaming the crowd. Ginny stared directly at the players, so enchanted by their moves she could barely breathe. She missed flying. She missed playing. She missed what she once thought could have been her life.

Draco had been standing still, paying attention exclusively to the game, when he caught a glimpse of Ginny’s face. The yellow lights of the stadium gleamed on her hair, blinded by her teary eyes. She was carried away, caught in the moment. He could feel her beaming heart on her sleeve: a whimpering, crying beat.

He did not understand why, but it bothered him how little he knew about the stunning girl right beside him.

“You’re welcome, Weasley”, he took a chance in the dark.

She looked at him, sniffing discretely. And smiled. A weary, but beautiful smile.

“I haven’t thanked you, Malfoy. You do know I’ll have to explain to my whole family why I vanished. I’m so screwed. And it’s your fault”, she defied him on false indignation.

“Again. You’re welcome, Weasley”, there was no fake curtsy this time, just his infuriating smirk.

29 years. Ginny’s head came to this number when she’d just finished her night shower before sleep. In her mind, she tried to figure out how to ignore what it meant: late. 29 opportunities, minus some few ones when she wasn’t actually conscious of her own humanity, to grow, to achieve, to reach for the stars (or whatever that meant), to accomplish, to fill up the gaps... 29 missings...

But she wasn’t going to miss the date that engraved on history how many losses for which she had held herself accountable.

And there she was, grumpily waking up whereas her mother yelled from the kitchen it was time to go to work. Since it was, after all, Ginny’s birthday, Molly restrained herself and her mother instincts to chastise Ginny for her immature behaviour. Every morning the Weasley’s matriarch complained how ridiculous it was to remind her adult daughter when to eat, sleep or wake-up to arrive at her job on time.

George usually received this kind of reprimand, but since Fred’s decease, he’d been forgiven more easily. It was comprehensible. Losing half of yourself and still opening a shop everyday was remarkable, no matter what time in the morning you executed it.

Ginny argued that she was doing what she had to do. There was no need to keep treating her like a child. Nevertheless, her mother insisted that she was late and sloppy. This way, ‘she would never thrive’. How could she, when instead of giving her best, Ginny’s offered the barely minimum? Even less.

Theories about giving up had been elaborated. How much potential she’s thrown away? What a promising young woman she was. How come she wasted her genius, an innate ability to learn and perform a myriad of spells and potions?

She didn’t know. All Ginny knew for sure was how she mourned her adolescent ambitions every birthday celebration she attended.

Fulfilled by gloom, the redhead arrived at her office. Opening her door, she was surprised by a loud explosion of multicoloured confetti accompanied by a handful of floating balloons that spelled "Happy Birthday!", changing every two seconds to her own name. Hermione, Ron, her dad and an awkward Harry waited for her reaction, all (well, except for Hermione, who reprimanded everyone for making a fuss in the bureau) wearing fun pointy hats and blowing birthday whistles.

Their joy was infectious and Ginny allowed herself to cheer up a little, throwing a large smile.

She thanked everyone, proclaiming the terrible cliché “You shouldn’t have done it”. They really shouldn’t, but it had been nice to receive unconditionally appreciation. She returned their affection with warm hugs.

Ron amicably joked about taking a day-off to celebrate and Hermione gave him a crass stare of unspoken disagreement. As if she would allow them to fool around when there was a ton of paperwork to assess.

That was their cue to part.

After some “Happy Birthday, Ginny! », everyone emptied the room, leaving her to the quiet mess they’d concocted. Later that night, they reminded, a small party would be thrown at Hogsmeade, to commemorate. “Great”, she thought. More awkward encounters. Exactly what she needed.

The routine continued with few complex tasks to perform. She looked around, gazing at the important wizards and witches’ frames that preceded her and fell a bit deeper on her chair. Then she turned to the clock on the wall. 11 a.m. One more day of underestimating the ‘honour’ of being Ginny Weasley. And it had just begun.

Now she felt ungrateful for how she underrated her friends and family’s caring. Even more after her reprehensive conduct toward them; especially at the night they’d granted her nothing but trust and affection. What she gave them in return? Betrayal.

Ginny detested being that person. The person who enjoyed an entire Quidditch match, laughing and cheering with Draco Malfoy on premium seats while her loved ones were worried to death about where she was. She’d exchanged her best friends for an evening side by side an old enemy.

Once more, she felt selfish. But at the time, trapped in that platonic flirt, Ginny immersed on a vortex of sad and exhilarating nostalgia. The sport’s magic entranced her and all she saw was Malfoy and the game. Reality was a postponable subject.

When the true world rearranged its orbit, Ginny locked eyes with Draco and said goodbye. The spell had been broken and she was to explain to everyone what happened.

As the fraud that she was, Ginny invented a sudden illness that would have had prevented her from attending the game. She was cautious, changing the subject every time someone intended to bring it up in front of her mother, who was, in fact, at home at the time. With brevity, all was forgotten. Others matches happened; hers and Draco’s was no longer relevant. Their secret a coin of no value.

Past the lovely party, the guilt came back to haunt her. Ginny then sunk even more on her seat, beating her head on the desk repeatedly. She was ready to self-flagellate once more when Draco appeared on the upper corner of the dark wood door.

He smirked whilst analysing her surroundings. Ginny’s still hadn’t cleaned the small celebration’s remainders. At the moment, it looked a little more depressing: the balloons’ spells started to fade and there were few letters missing.

« I guess congratulations are in order », Malfoy cheerfully enunciated as he entered the room, picking-up some confetti from the ground. « For the looks of the decoration, I assume I arrived too late”. Ginny discretely rubbed her forehead as a way to conceal possible bruises. She returned to gather some papers, faking normality out of her little tantrum.

“You are not late. My mom said I was born at noon, and, after six kids, she only remembers feeling hungry... », he quietly listened, almost laughing at her family memories of self-depreciation. « Anyway, you are actually a few minutes early to my transformation into a year older loser. Fantastic, isn’t it? »

« First, spare me your Weasley hillbilly tales. Second, I was a 29-year-old myself. Not a loser, off course. In fact, I was a tremendous success. Didn’t I tell you? I was back in London, drinking some butterbeer alone while some paparazzi gladly took my picture to prove to the Wizarding World that my trajectory as a Death Eater led me to doom and loneliness. I don’t remember the exact words, but the headlines included ‘choke on Devil’s Cake, Malfoy’. Clever, I might add. »

Ginny lifted her face to better absorb his tragic comedy.

“At least you were the cover of The Daily Prophet that day. »

«Rita Skeeter and her dumb assistants could have done much better. I mean. I’m 29, with an envied criminal record and even after all their attempts to make me look bad, I’m still one of the most desirable bachelors of this country»

« You are conceited, aren’t you, Malfoy? It must be great to have your self-esteem. »

« When you are this good-looking, it’s not that difficult. »

After those silly comments, Ginny freely laughed, hard. Draco had this power over her. He supposedly cared too little about what people thought about him; he was at the same time a genius and defenceless. All with some elegance that made her lighter as well as a little jealous.

Wondering how his presence and humour had weirdly brightened her days, she made a hasty decision, not quite reflecting about the consequences: « Well, you could take your handsome-self to my birthday gathering tonight.”

When his eyebrows raised and eyes widened, Ginny realised how insane her proposition was.

‘Okay. There was definitely a way out’. She still could obliviate him, or punch him. Either would be better than the horrible shame that instantly overwhelmed her.

Draco was taken utterly and completely by surprise at her invitation. Albeit their amazingly good interaction alone, he knew that Weasleys and Malfoys’ did not coexist peacefully. Keeping distance was self-defence. Beneficial for both sides. An old wizard, William Shakespeare, terribly mistaken for a muggle, once exemplified with a deadly ending how brutal an enemies get together could become. This wasn’t worth the risk.

It would be rude to decline, ‘though. But since when he cared that much about being rude?

Well, since her whole body began to shiver and search for a safe resort under the table before her. Ginny held her wand with fingers moving in a convulsion. The redhead tried to erase what she’d just said seemingly by force. Regret stamped all over her face.

Hair and demeanour enrubesced, suddenly, her entirely self had become monochromatically red. Shockingly, it kind of suited her.

« You-don’t-have-to-go...off-course-not... If-you-don’t-want-to...» Ginny babbled with an incredible speed, breaking the long silence that hovered them. Unbearable uneasiness that actually lasted no more than a few seconds.

The young witch stood up on a rampant, stifled in her minuscule perimeter, desperate to increase the distance between the two. With just one step towards her and her confusing pacing, back and forth, Draco dismantled her plan to escape, even metaphysically.

« I’ll probably finish some reports tonight. Your father’s orders. And Granger’s. Since your whole family and friends outrank me, they’ll overload me with stupid errands, so they could gloat for leaving early as I stand here, doing their dirty work. It’s hard to be a proletarian, you know”

Both finally exhaled. Draco’s pathetic speech worked well enough so the two could quickly pretend nothing had happened. Their breathing steadied as the they interchanged relieved glances, gathering some courage to speak again.

Ginny was the one to initiate their recovery. She pushed her small figure from the wall as to reach momentum to approach him once more and placed her wand on the desk, now, only armed with crumbs of bravery. «Well, it would have been great having you there: as my solo blue-collar fellow of the Ministry. » He contemplated the idea of touching her upper arm, or hand. Instead, he offered her a subtle smile, savouring her features like it was the last time he would see them.

« Blue is not my colour, Weasley. ‘Though after so much time with your family, I might start wearing some hand-me-downs, or appreciating canned ham... If I try hard enough, I’ll fit in... » Both chuckled, defeatedly fighting their inner battle against staring at each other until the clock’s cuckoo’s sound reverberated throughout the building.

12 p.m.

Ginny immediately awoke, remembering and quickly explaining she should be meeting Hermione for lunch. Draco then stepped aside, exiting the office as she grabbed her things before leaving.

« Perfectly on time. », Ginny’s couldn’t hide her confusion whereas Draco watched her eyebrows lift, questioning what could had he possibly meant. He retributed her bafflement with a teasing silence, resuming his way out. When she finally gave up solving his dumb puzzles, he turned around, meeting her gaze halfway. He pointed at the clock while enunciating from afar, for only her to hear: « Happy Birthday, Weasley »

Something snapped inside her. Along with an old balloon, a weak smile popped from her lips.

Killing someone would always be considered a hideous crime. Unforgivable. It’d demand an immeasurable amount of cruelty to execute such an action. For some, it was the ultimate proof of viciousness. Others agreed that the end couldn’t be more reprehensible than the path towards violence: to torture, to gloat at someone’s suffering.

However, when that someone was yourself, the issue became a lot more nuanced. Ending your own time on Earth was the subject of much discussion and no final conclusion. Ironically, one could say.

Throwing away this only chance of experiencing life in its plenitude... Was it punishable?

In the end, there would be no one to blame but self. On the other hand, when living becomes a burden too heavy to carry, when breathing asphyxiates and smiling poisons, could anybody inflict culpability in lieu of atonement? Is the executor really a villain? Or a hero of their own narrative?

Ginny’s story came to a similar turning point. Perhaps too sudden to unacquainted eyes. But to her, those cords that tightened around her neck had been entangling themselves, ready to push her to oblivion, for an amount of time no human could fathom measuring.

It was a happy occasion: her birthday. And, initially, she felt like she could enjoy herself unapologetically to her prior missteps. She’d been content a great part of the afternoon, occasionally catching herself laughing at Draco Malfoy’s bantering memory. His pathetic charm inebriated her thoughts, guiding her towards a happy present, instead of drowning both in their past sorrows.

There were his sneaky stares at their secret Quidditch match, the gleam of his skin whenever the afternoon light reflected upon his epidermis: pale, rosy… Regardless of this angelical aura, some diabolical mist clouded his thoughts. Malice that somewhat attracted her. Ginny wondered if it was his villainous core that pulled her to him, their similarity instead of obvious differences.

Perhaps he wasn’t the night, obscure, to her sunnier character. Against all common sense, she asked whether they were equals, phosphorescent when convenient yet essentially dark.

Routine engulfed her on the usual procrastinator’s guilt ‘til it was time to leave. This time, she would not go home, but to a party. Her party.

Her whole family was already in Hogsmeade, at the Three Broomsticks, when she arrived alongside Hermione and Ron. The whole room had been decorated accordingly: with balloons shaped like her name and little brooms that flew through the air. Every 20 seconds, some broom exploded into confetti, quickly replaced by a new one, restarting the festive cycle.

Soon, her prior companions momentarily parted from her at Harry’s arrival. Not by any surprise, the trio left her as old friends entered the room. She wandered through her reminiscences; a strong sense of déjà vu had taken over. Luckily, she was used to abandonment. She actually preferred being forgotten for a while. Solitude usually meant freedom, liberation of social bindings and protocols.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of enjoying company. She did.

Someone whose company she’d always valued was Neville’s, and she felt glad as he came into sight, politely greeting everyone he knew in the room. As soon as he found Ginny’s spot, he embraced her warmly. Instantaneous realisation struck her. How life had tricked them, setting both too far apart, losing touch of each other to the point where they’re on the verge of becoming ancient photographs.

« How are things? The kids are alright? », Ginny asked with genuine interest. It was no secret that Neville was happily married to some Beauxbatons’ herbologist. After his parents passing away and all the pain Voldemort and his followers caused him, he finally found peace. Not only peace, but well-deserved joy.

« Oh, the kids are great. As you already know, I’m teaching Herbology and my elder daughter is 8, so soon she’ll join me in Hogwarts. She’s excited now, but I’m sure she’ll be embarrassed when the time comes. »

« She’ll be ashamed. There’s no doubt. But you are a great professor, so she’ll be proud as well. Just keep those mandrakes away from the poor girl. » He smiled, nodding in a gentle response. He introduced his wife, and, when they started to discuss some plants they’d recently discovered being able to cure the winter flu, she felt trapped on a dead-end conversation.

Smiling anxiously, she excused herself saying she had to keep mingling. “Birthday girl’s duties. Sorry!”, she said as she waved a brief goodbye to the couple who hadn’t looked that affected by her departure. Their discussion on the newest healing powers of said bud had gotten quite heated.

Ginny then chuckled, both amused and relieved.

The night continued with some very awkward, some less awkward, encounters with old acquaintances. Padma Patil had become a novelist, Colin Creevey the new Daily Prophet’s photographer, Seamus a healer... A list of blissful journeys, tales of resilience, fortune, success, or even resigned serenity.

What was her story?

At her parents’ house, loitering through her days... She still hadn’t learnt to ask the right questions whereas her mates already had all the right answers. Those very few she had weren’t that exciting either.

She tried to put those thoughts aside, chewing on a chocolate frog she’d found. But just as fast her demons, her parents caught her.

Her dad, often a source of fondness, looked positively disappointed as her mother exuded anger. Thankfully, they had no intention in delaying expressing their disapproval any longer.

« We’ve been informed at the Ministry that you’ve been perceived as absent. », her dad began taking the stand, nodding to his wife to wait.

« Absent? I’ve never missed a day of work!”, Ginny protested, visibly disgusted.

“But you are always the last to arrive and the first to leave! You’ve never done more than you’ve been told to. This is unacceptable, Ginny! You should do your best... Not act like this! ». Ginny’s mouthed gaped, realisation striking her. She knew her dad was right. She’d been mediocre. She underperformed. She was unacceptable.

« Your father got you this job so you could find some purpose! Instead, you do nothing? What’s wrong with you, Ginny? You are so talented, so smart. You’ve done so much at Hogwarts. The most brilliant potion brewer», her mother added, waiting for an explanation. When she got none, she continued. « Your brother George tries every day. Bill spends most of his time figuring out how to handle his lunar outbursts and still he’s thriving, working hard and being recognised for it at Gringotts... Tell me: why are you sabotaging yourself? »

There it was, the word that chased her for months, then years. According to all her family, she’d been sabotaging her future, deliberately missing opportunities to succeed. It was like she shackled herself at the bottom and refused to use the keys profusely thrown at her.

She’d chosen to fail.

Tears now sparkled on her eyes. Reality, another that she persisted to evade, hurt. Badly.

She’d done nothing to earn praises. So many people overcame their difficulties and persevered. Her excuse? She was pathetic, despicable. No effort was worth anybody’s while.

Yet, her core begged her to defend herself, as an instinct. Stupid self-preservation that contradicted her own wishes to let go.

“I don’t know... I just wake up every day, I reflect upon all that have happened... And I realise that there’s no reason to keep doing this. I’ve said to myself so many times that I hate, hate what I am, that this agenda of make-believe it’s been eating me inside. Could you just stop reminding me of I already know? I just wish it all to be over!”

The truth finally erupted from Ginny’s drenched lips. Body and soul shaking, she held her gut as an attempt to prevent herself from vomiting her spirit. Or what was left of it. Her parents gaped, astonished, saddened by her statement. And it hit her even harder. She’d never wanted to harm anyone.

Every day she was told she’d been used to an addictive cycle of inertia; lethargy befriending her. She just couldn’t escape…

How many mornings she’d barely opened her eyes? How many days she wished she had skipped?

Disgusted with herself, throttled by her crying, she stormed out of the room as her mom and dad tried to initiate some sort of consolation. The stinging pain had grown too big. She had to go.

The guests were too distracted with their own conversations to be alarmed at the young woman running, bumping recklessly into anyone who was on her way. She was too agitated to realise she could have simply apparated out of there.

Gladly, no commotion arose. So, the party continued.

Aimlessly, Ginny ran as fast she could. If she stayed, everyone would pour at her love proclamations and self-help speeches. They would try to dissuade her off the throbbing pain that consumed her. After all, how could a beautiful, intelligent twenty-nine-year-old woman feel so helpless? At her own party even, they could name a few wizards whose traumas were bigger, who had less potential than her.

Promising Ginny Weasley. Amazing at all she’d set her mind to. How come she could have underwhelmed them this much? The answer, only Ginny possessed. All the promises she couldn’t keep had never been made by her. At least, not willingly.

Deep down, she must have known that her grades weren’t that great, that her skills weren’t that exceptional. Nevertheless, she deluded herself that she was invincible. The war came, life came, and she got stuck in those assumptions. She could become a seeker, a chaser... But those who were actually talented collected the prize. In this race, she’d gagged on winner’s dust.

Those who were close to her denied the fact that she was blasé, average. However, if she indeed disappeared, there would be no void everyone hadn’t already witnessed.

Completely out of breath, Ginny comforted herself on the lightness of utter extenuation. Screening through her memories while walking by the nearly empty street, she asked herself where would it be safe to go.

The Zonko’s storefront took shape as she found a resort on a bench right before it.

The cold wind had already dried her tears and numbed her limbs. The freezing weather was somewhat cosy. Meanwhile, warmth inflamed her insides as she watched the pranks’ store windowpane. There was so much colour; trickery spells and candies moved on a beautiful frenzy. All seemed magical until the whimsical spectacle began to dizzy her, twisting her insides.

Wobbly, she leant farther behind on the cold bench. Fred’s images started to fill her chest with nostalgia. How she wished he was there. Her extraordinary twin brother would never be found in this position. He would never deceive his family or himself. He was the one worth living.

Ginny light streams became a torrent of tears down her cheeks, rapidly reaching her chin. Low whimpers escaped from her sticky lips. She ignored the repugnant snot that smudged her coat and searched for a way of ending her soring spirit. So much self-hatred wounded her soul that her hands were convinced to finish this in real bruises. Asphyxiated ‘though fully oxygenated, she placed her fingers on her throat, pressing it weakly.

Her coughs and moans became louder. Hesitant yet powerful, her knuckles folded mildly over her salient jugular. It still pumped life. Against her will.

Ginny’s brain wouldn’t allow her to erase its existence without a fight. So, her heart tried to cooperate, releasing her grip and settling for more sobbing. Again, she’d been too coward to finish something.

Looking at her hands, she felt deeply ashamed. Not because of the few streetwalkers that watched her, but for her complete lack of courage.

She rested at the same spot until figuring out she’d better be moving if she wished not to be found. Ginny walked a bit through the town. As the shop owners quietly shuttered their stores, an epiphany opened up her eyes.

Then rushed into the night.

When the redhead arrived at the Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, it was almost closed. Its proprietary was ready to throw her an angry look when she met Ginny’s washed-out face. The latter’s appearance was such a disgrace that, with an unspoken supplicate, she received a merciful nod. She could enter.

Since it was indeed quite late, the teashop sheltered only a handful of customers. Balancing her weight on the tip of her toes, Ginny examined the room quickly, trying not to bother the gentle lady that let her in. Her roaming eyes found her target near the cashier. She sighed, feeling a bit relieved.

At least one quest she had executed successfully.

« Aren’t you supposed to be at your party, Weasley? », said Draco, completely swept away as he met Ginny’s gaze from across the room. His grey eyes widened, shifting focus to the redhead that just appeared. Distracted, he almost forgot to retrieve the delicate rose paper box for which he had come there on the first place.

« You’ve mentioned your mom loved Madams Puddifoot’s raspberry scones. So, I figured it was the perfect time to try one”, Ginny’s words were enunciated with difficulty. They sounded heavy. Lungs seemingly too weak to air them out. The humorous façade that she tried to pull out had become unbearable to maintain.

Draco watched her exhausted chuckle trigger water droplets on her eyes. He knew she had come to meet him. And albeit her meek effort to sustain their usual bantering, he decided not to point that out. Instead, he offered her comfort.

« Would you like to sit? Take some hot chocolate?”, Madam Padfoot employee shot him a threatening stare and he realised the gravity of the situation. Quickly, Draco surrounded Ginny with his arms, taking back his proposition and leading her out of the teashop, “Or not. Perhaps we should go somewhere else.”

Ginny said nothing as Draco gently rubbed his slender fingers on her shoulder blades. They were now on the street. And despite the freezing weather, he patiently waited for her to break the icy silence.

« I’m sorry, Malfoy. This is none of your business, I didn’t mean to ruin your evening...», Ginny began, almost stuttering, and suddenly was interrupted by Draco’s disapproving reaction.

“You didn’t ruin anything. After an entire afternoon transcribing magical apparitions to bewildered bloody muggles, being here with you is a strong contender in this scarce competition for the highlight of my day. So…We were close to happy this morning. What happened? » Draco already knew she hadn’t been well for a while, but not like that. This Ginny wasn’t just slightly unsatisfied; she was hopeless. He had recurred to darkening and fading metaphors, but this night, she looked like she had been deprived of more than just glimmerings of joy, she was a vacuum, soulless.

Ginny opened and closed her mouth. She stared at the handsome man before her and asked herself what had not happened. It wasn’t his concern, of course. But why she had come there in the first place? Because Malfoy wasn’t honourable. Because he had despised her for almost their entire life. Thus, harming herself wouldn’t affect him just like it started to numb her.

This was a safe space where she expected no forgiveness. Just visceral honesty. Which she so badly needed.

Ginny felt rushed to explode. There was no time to hide. Bile, grief, burnt her insides. She didn’t have the guts to hold it all in. Like a flood, it poured out of her, pushing any barricade that she could’ve built. Her necrotic heart had to come out.

« I’m through, Malfoy. I’m through with pretending I’m okay, but it’s also so unfair to others who have always been there to take care of me to absorb the mess that I am. I’m not smart or passionate, or charismatic...I’m not even hardworking! Everybody wants to believe it, but I can’t get better! And I know what looked like years ago, when I cared. I looked ambitious and perspicacious, but it was false! Just as false as the mark you have in your arm » now she dared to touch his biceps. Her grip was delicate in spite of the violence she spat. It surprised him, but he kept focused on her words.

« It has to be a lie, because if it was once true, I have no explanation nor solution how to bring myself back. It just seems easier to believe that everything was already broken. My existence would mean less, and end it wouldn’t hurt that bad. » Draco said nothing, just stared at her, waiting for her to finish. No pun intended to lighten the mood. Salty streams poured out of her eyes; her hands hung weakly beside her bent torso as if they were connected to strings, pushing her to the ground

“I think of how great Fred, and Tonks, and Remus...They were extraordinary. They were brave, noble, worthy... I wish I could switch places with any of them, all of them... I’d dry my blood, burn my flesh, to bring them back. They deserved to be alive so much more than I do. Their lives mattered.”

“Your life matters to me, Weasley. », Draco was shocked with his own words. Candour in his world had always been a rarity.

« Don’t, Malfoy. Please, don’t. It is excruciating enough not being sufficiently brave to end it myself. I remember my family and realise that terminate this twinging ache would only cause them much more of it. I am a ghost, a spectral reflection of others’ desires... So, I hang by this thread...Wishing someone would cut it and let me go. » Ginny fell. All said, she waited for his verdict. She believed had chosen well: a judge with no fear of blood on his hands.

Thus, she waited for the clean cut.

«I’m not a good person. My stock of good advices has never been refilled. I just wish you saw yourself as I see you. I appreciate your whole self and, despite your persistence in denying me your company, I must say that it makes me glad knowing that you’re alive”. Ginny begged for cruel bluntness and to Draco's bewilderment, only honey escaped from his lips. The blonde man projected venom, but his heart had become so enamoured by the sound of her squeaky voice, that his mouth found no alternative than proclaiming balm for her bruises.

“Please...You are making this worse. » Draco stepped closer to her, taking her arms, pulling her up from the imaginary strings. Even though she breathed, her body felt lifeless. He then slid his hand through her jaw, hoping his body heat could reanimate her damp cheeks. «I can’t do it alone. I’m begging you.” Ginny didn’t fight his touch, she succumbed to it, resting her head on his palm. Her hands, meanwhile, held her wand close to his chest, handing it to him. Eyes closed. Mouth trembling. « Hate me again. You’ve done before. Trust me. It’s not that complicated. » Her voice was demanding, hoarse and hurtful.

Watching her like that stung him more than any Dementor at Azkaban had ever done.

«I’ve never hated you. Now, It’s unconceivable a life without you. I’ll act like a Malfoy and I’ll be selfish. I won’t let you go, because I want you with me. I don’t give a fuck about your family, or Potter. I need you and I won’t lose you» The blonde’s lips made a light twist upward on a subtle grin, desperately intending to inject some humour in her. She stared at him, stunned, searching for a comeback whilst trying to escape his embrace.

Contrary to her wishes, his words reignited a weak flame on her amber eyes. «Why can’t you just do one thing right? » He loosened his grip on her arms, reducing even more the distance between them. Draco then grabbed her wand and returned it to her right pocket.

Grief had deprived her from her ability to argue, so she rested one hand on his chest, closing it on a fist. In her mind, punching him looked like a sudden good idea. However, there was no ounce of stamina in her body or soul. Even her breathing was difficult as his face approached her own, lips only a few inches apart.

«If you wanted right, you should have asked Potter to do it.” Draco’s lips brushed hers lightly. Everything went on gently as he quickly moved them to her cheeks, absorbing some of her tears. Ginny relaxed to his touch, allowing his fingers to place a few strands from her hair behind her ear to clear the way to his own mouth. «You can’t be wasted, Ginny»

The light streaks that sneaked in, waking Ginny up that morning, didn’t have the usual shape and tone of her shabby curtains. Its wavy lines were sharp and timid, furtively trespassing the fabrics thread patterns. The sombre atmosphere almost dissuaded her into sleeping a few more minutes, but the sudden realisation that snapped within her was enough to get her out of the incredibly comfortable (but strange) bed.

Dark emerald paper walls surrounded the whole room, neatly decorated. The large space was carefully filled solely by an enormous bed and a matching two piece set of furniture made of dense oak wood. There was no paraphernalia or personal belongings scattered throughout its surfaces as in her actual bedroom. In that place everything had a meticulous purpose. Clean, hermetically beautiful. Its stillness nonetheless seemed mournful, unlived.

At her current state of mind, the icy environment didn’t bother her that much. Especially when her gaze fell on a tiny portrait over the elegant night table she aimlessly caressed with her fingertips. The little frame captured the laugh she’d grown fond of on a much younger boy. He held a little broom, too clumsy to actually fly upon it.

The naïf youngster fell a couple of times, but got up and with no decrease in enthusiasm, tried again. This Draco Malfoy reminded her of her past self: hopeful, uncorrupted, free.

Ginny’s hands still wandered through the dragons’ carvings on each corner of the furniture before delving in the circumstances that led her there: to one of the immaculate rooms of Draco’s Malfoy Manor. By choice.

A couple hours before, she considered disappearing. And took action to make it true. It hadn’t been on a whim, but a conscious decision about how agonising wouldn’t suffice for her. She was tired of reaping little crumbs of joy to feed a hunger that culminated on self-devouring. Her sadness had half-eaten all her tissues, leaving Ginny with less than a heart-ache.

Recollecting the remainders of her brave days, struggling to shutter the screams of her disappointed family and friends, she ran. To someone she hoped to fulfil her morbid dreams. All because she hadn’t been able to do it herself. Not at all shocking; she was too weak.

Amid a turmoil, an outburst of blunt painful proposals, he silently watched Ginny undress herself of all masks. No irony, nor sarcasm. She stood vulnerable, bestowing him the weapon to stab her; an infinity of cruel alternatives on full display that he firmly refused.

Draco’s reaction awed her. By simple association, she rambled: wasn’t he also a coward for once more fleeing from the irreversible outcome of this concession? He had, after all, chosen to perpetuate her agony over his peace of mind. However, strong notes of courage nuanced his words.

The young man picked her, her whole ineptitude as recipient of love-like proclamations. Rather than stepping over, he stayed.

Since all happened so fast, Ginny’s mind had no time to process what she had just witnessed. Life hadn’t suddenly found a new meaning because Malfoy embraced her. Nevertheless, a little flame ignited inside her when she felt his heart beat flow to her extremities. Unbeknownst to her, this spark had been fomented for the past few weeks as they’ve spent little to no time together. But only at that instant she recognised its power over her.

Resting against his ribcage, Ginny then allowed herself to relax over the sympathetic assumptions of growing affection instead of relying upon the usual distrust.

With Ginny between his arms, an equally disturbed Draco found himself helpless. Ignorant to the freezing cold that whipped them, he finally realised what had been said and done. He still felt the light twinges of her skin against his lips as tokens of his earnest claims of tenderness and immersed himself in doubt.

He was an idiot. Now, they were both exposed, too vulnerable to pursue their mocking façade.

So Draco and Ginny stood motionless, linked by the perfect mould of their entanglement. They would have stayed in that same position a while longer if Draco hadn’t startled himself when Ginny’s hands started to doodle invisible shapes on his chest. Amongst them, an inaccurate heart.

This silly custom soothed her when she had a lot on her mind. Sadly, he hadn’t been warned.

“Are you okay?”, Draco asked, deeply concerned. Now that they were apart, none was quite certain of what to do with their arms which had grown accustomed to the other’s texture.

The last minutes flashed before Ginny’s eyes, the same from which a fond gaze leaked upon meeting Draco’s silvery ones.

“I’m well enough”, she lied, afraid of the truth that eagerly haunted her. The tears bloomed once more as she thought about the life she should get back to. Malfoy might as well have ended this mess when she gave him the chance. But it was too late, his motivations, no matter how noble they had been, hadn’t removed the weight of breathing from her chest.

His effort, however, was oddly reinvigorating.

Ginny wearily sighed, facing prematurely the consequences of being and turned around. In some way, she prepared herself to say goodbye to this alternative fantasy they’ve concocted. It upset her how of all versions of the truth, the ones that didn’t mortify her were those in which either Draco actually liked her or was magnanimous enough to murder her.

Eerily, the former Death Eater in front of her was the least scary one between the two.

“Do you really have to go back?”, Draco abruptly asked, restraining his feet from getting closer.

“Where else would I go?”, she replied, too tired to attest the obvious, “To your house? What about my family?”

“What else would they do? Kill you?”, Draco boldly joked. He stepped on thin ice, unsure if he had crossed the line between rescuing her and pushing her further down.

Amidst the darkness, she smiled: “Touché, Malfoy. Touché”.

Still quite hesitant about how to proceed, Draco indicated the way where they should go. He figured fresh air would do her some good and quietly suggested a quick walk down the lane.

She acquiesced.

Nearly at ease together, the urge to intertwine their fingers spread to their tips. Unfortunately, the couple was too self-conscious to subside to such impulse. Therefore, both resigned a foot away from their goal, unaware of the other’s yearnings, secretly longing.

The short promenade of common appreciation of the ghostly landscape where almost nobody passed by was fulfilled by inner inquiries. The duo’s aimless thoughts led them both into obscure reminiscences: his path toward atonement, her deceitful regression. In face of their own generation, neither seemed to fit any respectful role amongst their peers. On Draco’s side, he'd found himself on a serious case of arrested development. On Ginny's, involution had no literality refinement, albeit a similar blockage displaced through her veins. The two, on this race of life, had come last.

In fact, the finish line was not anywhere near to be seen. Oblivious to the perks of personal growth, they’ve stumbled.

Draco and Ginny acknowledged their defeats as large pieces of the same darkness that surrounded them. Hers still lingered so freshly imprinted on their memories that Draco didn’t feel like reverberating his own. Thus, both desperately searched for some glimpse of happiness within to share. As the seconds went by, the task became almost physically painful.

They’ve finally come to a place where no wordplay could make the suffering less pungent. Which made the whole situation even scarier.

Fear then ruled their interaction. It dared to silence them for mere seconds until Ginny’s inner voices wore her out. She’d rather say anything than remain hostage of the ominous memories in her mind.

The redhead mentioned the pink little box Draco carried and witnessed a very much startled Malfoy crack some sort of code.

The sudden realisation was the key to their change of course, giving them an actual one. Finally, after a brief apparition trip, they’ve arrived at the Malfoy Manor.

Despite Draco’s negligence, no forgotten scones were truly missed. His mother, as a house elf promptly explained, had decided to stay over at her sister Andromeda’s and would not be found in her chambers that night. The blonde faked indifference, but Ginny easily recognised how relieved he really was. Probably because, this way, they wouldn’t have to justify how had a Weasley ended up under multiple Malfoy lineage’s roof in circumstances that had nothing to do with burglary.

Without further ado, Draco hastily guided her throughout the endless halls in search of a cosier place to stay. Baffled and outraged, Ginny fought the urge to count how many rooms they’ve passed by that easily matched such requirements. She neither pointed that out. In spite of what everybody said, Weasleys had manners. Well, except for Ron. He was just embarrassing.

Their destination was reached when they’ve entered what looked like a tea room. At its centre, a beautiful round table reigned gracefully, circled by an elegant set of cushioned chairs. On the wall they now faced, there was a fireplace whose mantelpiece was carefully adorned with fresh flowers and portraits of ancient members of the Black-Malfoy clan.

Too tired to wait for silly protocols, Ginny sat down on one of the chairs as Draco discussed with some house elf he had summoned earlier. The little box he held was handed to the servant while the young lady secretly hugged her own belly, wishing she’d had some scones.

“Since Granger couldn’t keep herself out of everyone’s business, I guess I’ll have to start paying those little bastards very soon”, Draco instinctively removed his coat and sat beside a contemplative Ginny, “Perhaps I’ll ask your father a raise”

“Oh, I see. You’ve invited me over so you can take me as leverage for blackmail. But for your own good, I must warn you: you should definitely consider a higher value asset”, she responded whilst gradually facing his smirking fade away upon her candour.

“I expect no ransom. Not because you’re not worth rapturing”, he retaliated in honeyed banter.

“This was creepy. Even for you, Malfoy”

Draco laughed. And she regretted imposing her self-hatred on his blossoming compassion.

“You really don’t see it. Do you?”

“What?”

“That you’re the creepy one. And I've dealt with the cruellest people on Earth. Before you even dare to bring that up, yes, I’m using my Azkaban card”

“I’m realistic. That’s all”

“You are demeaning yourself. That’s not realistic at all”

“I wish you were right”

Ginny’s words lingered heavily in the air for a short fraction of time. Her honesty was abrasive and disconcerting. To Draco, this funny, smart and exceptional young woman was enough. More than enough. Nevertheless, some of her truth resonated up to his core.

The marred Malfoy tradition of elitism and cruelty aside, what tormented Draco the most was the recurring feeling of missing out life. He didn’t care that much about ceremonies and social statements. What really bothered him was this itching sensation of individual unfulfillment. Apart from the preconceptions of recovering war criminal, easy target for all gossipers; apart from his name’s burdens and advantages, was there more to find? Was he a product of his surroundings with no unique qualities?

The little Weasel fell onto this trap of denying existential relevance and alluded Draco’s own fears. He still believed being himself was more of a privilege than an obligation. However, privilege intrinsically entailed some level of excellence. Which he sought, with little to no effervescence.

Ginny’s opened her delible paralysis to him to delve in and he found his, desperate to be seen.

Others would state the obvious: how important it was to fight back. Him, he knew she was too fragile to grit her teeth and slay her demons. They’ve needed peace to nurture their souls. The battle for improvement would have to wait another day. Otherwise, there would be nothing to improve, after all.

“I’ve always taken you for a coward. No offense, Malfoy”, Ginny laughed awkwardly, “But now I see that you’ve thrived, in your way… Meanwhile, I’ve been so afraid. All the time. Not of death, as I’ve made it pretty clear earlier. Of life. It’s hard to fathom how scared I’ve felt, as if I’ve been gluing my legs to the ground to not suffer, yet, it’s the immobility that kills me, slowly. Don’t you ever feel that your mind is playing tricks, faking self-protection at the same time it terminates the few chances you have to be someone?”

“I’m not sure what to say. I suppose taking action is harder than perfect ones like Potter or Granger make it look like. They love claiming how change is possible if you engage. Then, if you fail, it’s lack of effort, not a product of circumstances”

“It is a product of circumstances. The thing is that I’ve provoked those chain reactions that have culminated on crumbling, instead of succeeding!”, she yelled, horrified of her choices not only of words, but of prior actions “For once we must hold ourselves accountable for our defeats”

“And for what? Let’s say we are pathetic and it’s in our fate losing, that only means that there’s nothing worth fighting for!”, this time, he screamed, pulling strengths from all branches of his lungs to convince her that there was still meaning in being. Those words came out as a way of replenishing his brain and heart with the same ideals.

Her insecurities merged with his own. Whilst he still had some control over them, she handled them as if she walked over quick sand.

“Is there such a thing? Because it seems that there’s no amount of air capable of oxygenating this fire. Time passes and blows it away, always. My recurring mistakes cannot be forgiven by youth or immaturity and I’m too old to keep believing on happiness when I’ve done nothing to earn it. Not even the basics: growing up is one of them”

“Is that because you live with your parents? There’s no shame in that. I live with my mother and it’s fine by me.”

“No. It’s more than that. It’s about evolving. And I hate being stuck!”, Ginny stood up, raising her arms before placing them on her stomach, punching it over, and over.

“I’m stuck too. But I won’t accept this ‘undeserving pursuit of happiness’ crap. This is bullshit”, at that, the redhead stopped, glancing at him, wide-eyed, wondering what the hell was happening.

“You don’t know me. How can you for a fact attest that I am worthy of joy?”, this time, it was Draco’s turn of speechlessness. He did not know her that well. And he was aware of the fact that her food preferences at the Ministry’s food trolley wouldn’t count as significant information. Unfortunately.

“Because if you are not worthy, by association, it would directly mean that I’m not either. And in that I don’t believe. Not even for a second. Life is a bitch. But it’s the only thing that I can share… with you.”

Ginny waited for a punchline. It never came.

“You want to be with…me? That’s it?”, she sat back, startled. This could not be true. “After all I’ve said. After all you’ve seen. Is that some kind of self-flagellation?”

The blonde remarked her astonishment with amusement. Perhaps there was some truth in what she proposed. They were terrible together. Nevertheless, apart, they’ve been no better either.

“Even what we might consider your worst has made me laugh more in the last weeks than I’ve laughed the prior ten years. You might not accept it, Weasley, but you have this something that stands out. It’s almost annoying”, Draco kept up with blunt caresses, choosing not to remind that, regardless of the ashes from her consumed fierceness, there was more than grey smut on her.

“You must be insane. Otherwise, you are trying to mess with my mind. Please…Torture is not the best way to handle this situation”, Ginny then rubbed her temples, trying to erase the reality of it all. She had travelled to the serpent’s lair willingly. Vulnerable and distracted, ironically, it was her the victim of the snake charmer.

Although there were no signs of venom or manipulation. Madness was in her eyes, not in his prose. The ultimate demise would get her to the same exact place. Since she had nothing else to lose, distrusting him seemed pointless.

“Are we going to keep playing this game? Because I’m not going to make believe I’m saint Potter so you can confide in me! Fuck that! I’m a Malfoy!”, Draco, who patiently weighed the repercussions of what he wanted to say and what she’d be prepared to listen, finally lost it. He stood from his seat on a rampant of fury and forced her to look at him. There was no time to be misinterpreted. Not after all they’ve been through that evening.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. You are right. You’ve offered me shelter and do not deserve to be mistreated”, Ginny retributed his eager desire with a fond gaze. Deepened in regret. She then took his hand, tracing the same shapes she’d done before, plus a star and a lightening. This time, he stood still, savouring her touch, puzzled. “I know what you’ve said before. But that was such a drastic context that I figured that maybe, maybe it was a desperate attempt to change my mind. I just thought…that you didn’t mean it”

As quietness hovered amongst the couple, Draco’s thoughts travelled to the million ways of telling her that, somehow, she’d managed to make it realer what he’d said earlier. Although the possibilities were infinite, no matter how poorly or poetically he could try to translate it, all combinations initiated with the opening of a pandora box of hurt that he simply refused to unshut.

He didn’t want to see the same grief in her eyes never again; didn’t want to remind her of that sense of utter despair. He said before that he’d be selfish. Now, he would put her welfare first.

Therefore, Draco remained silent. Albeit all wishes to scream he ‘meant it’. Every bit of it.

Ginny expectantly waited for an answer, tilting her head down to watch the move of her fingers on the back of his hand. Draco quickly joined her, both rejoicing the giddiness of that all.

The girl’s theories of what Malfoy could have said were as uncountable as Draco’s. Just diametrically opposite to each other. At least the majority of them. Since she just could not rest immune from their overwhelming power for long, she burst.

When she prepared to step away from him, Draco gave up on walking the higher ground. Life was too short to keep playing it safe. He then placed both hands on each side of her face; thumbing her cheeks, eagerly craving her lips. Thankfully, she showed no signs of resistance.

Desire increased their heartbeats, pupils dilated, hyperventilation deafening their senses. His eyes saw nothing but her face, most specifically her gaping mouth that gasped for air.

The reunion of their lips seemed inevitable until the manor’s house-elf appeared. Startled, they lost momentum and almost ran to opposite corners of the room.

Clearly disgusted, Draco watched the slender creature place a beautiful cake on the table between them. He intended to reprimand the servant when he followed Ginny’s gaze and found out that it lingered on the coloured candles in front of her.

“Happy Birthday, Weasley”, he carefully approached her, admiring her open a fire lit smile.

“You did mean it, didn’t you?”, Ginny muttered to herself and never actually knew if the platinum-haired man beside her had listened.

She counted the candles and hid any trace of ostentatious emotion. 29. That was a horrible number of years to keep half-living. However, perhaps there were still scraps of excitement to hold on to. Or so she hoped.

The youngest Weasley took a deep breath. Then she contemplated the burning heat that consumed the micro atmosphere around it. The trembling flame reflected her hesitation. When she eventually exhaled, she surprised herself upon realising that the only thing she’d wished to be blown out were the candles.

Ginny quickly shifted her attention to Draco, who analysed everything from a safe distance, almost scared to wake her from her comfortable trance. 29 was indeed a horrible number, the most dreadful of them all when you’re drowning. But maybe, in the remotest possibility, truly unlikely, the waves might lead you to the shore. And one day, you’ll even yearn for a swim again.

“What have you wished for? More cake?”, Draco teased, getting nearer and actually taking a bite of it.

Ginny looked at him, incredulous. She was, however, starving, and stole his piece of cake instead of indulging him with a verbal answer.

“You Weasleys are all poor famished gits, aren’t you?”, the redhead was too focused on chewing and completely ignored the blonde’s innocuous mockery. It was the wisest choice. The dish was sublime: dark-chocolate layers with chocolate-y filling. Her favourite! Thus, she indulged herself on multiple bites, full-mouthed and even dirtying up her face as the creamy substance stuck to her fingertips.

Taking himself another slice before she finished the whole thing, Draco grinned. Even harder when she painted his nose with her chocolate-coated thumb. Although he was dirty, hungry and quite frustrated, Malfoy again gleamed at the thought of how lucky he was because she was alive.