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A/N – wow, I’m just going to warn you now, this one-shot isn’t my typical kind. It’s all angsty and depressing, which is ironic considering I was in quite a good mood when I wrote it. It’s just what came out when I started typing. It’s much shorter, too. Almost a drabble, really. Anyway, hope you like the change of pace.
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The Window
My school years were both the best and worst of my life. I think most people believe that, but it’s especially true for me. I had all the status a bloke could wish for: money, looks, they even called me “Prince of Slytherin.” Agree or don’t, I felt like royalty.
I had promise, too. I would serve as one of Voldemort’s greatest Death Eaters. I would rule the ranks just below the Dark Lord himself and such officers as my father and perhaps Severus Snape. A high honor for a boy so young.
My marks were decent. I was no Granger, but I did well for myself. I starred as the Seeker for my Quidditch team. I earned Prefect status and later became Head Boy. Fate served life up to me on a silver platter.
But I rarely slept. The stress of the expectations placed on me and the constant awareness that the people who laughed at my jokes during the day would gladly smother me at night stole my ability to rest. I used to get terrible dark circles under my eyes which looked worse against such pale skin. I learned a charm to hide them. I could show no weakness. The minute I did that, I was finished.
I lived with the knowledge that my friends were just enemies in disguise and that everyone had a motive. I grew up viewing the world as a series of traps I had to learn to dance around. I was an excellent dancer by the time I hit Sixth year.
That was when I met her.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I’d known of her since the cradle, practically, and I’d known her personally since before First year. Old family ties, you see. Not good ones, though.
She had hair red as a robin’s breast, eyes the color of melted chocolate and just as soft, and an orange sprinkle of freckles across her nose, cheeks, and shoulders. She only reached my chin, but she held herself in such a way that she seemed taller. She was beautiful, and temperamental, and dangerous. I noticed none of this. I saw her name, Weasley, a filthy title, and nothing more.
She changed all of that one still night in the middle of winter. Snow fell all across the grounds, big fat flakes that clung to and crystallized every surface. Of course, I stayed oblivious to this down in my dungeon room, lying fully clothed atop my bed, wide awake as usual. I finally decided to get up and walk around.
I don’t know why I did. Usually I didn’t. Usually I laid there until breakfast, cast the charm to hide the rings shadowing my eyes, and started my day. But tonight I just had to get up and move.
I left the dungeons and started wandering aimlessly through the castle. I didn’t have to worry about getting caught. When I stumbled across her, she didn’t seem too worried either. She stood before a great window, the edges frosted with frozen icing, arms holding a thick shawl tight around her shoulders. Moonlight streamed through the glass, bathing her in its frail light and making her already fair skin look even paler. Her hair shimmered with it. She must have heard me approach because she turned her head and for a long time, we only stared at each other.
I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I should have taken points. Normally that would have made my night. But something about the scene caught the breath in my throat.
I don’t know how much time passed before she stretched out her hand to me. I stared at her, wondering if she’d gone barmy or if she just didn’t recognize me. She answered my question a moment later by whispering, “Come on, Malfoy.” For the first time in my life, I did as I was told. I walked up and, hesitantly, took her hand.
And Ginny Weasley pulled me into the greatest, most terrifying, most surreal period of my life.
We met like that every night the rest of the winter, in front of that same window, sometimes watching the stars, or watching other snowfalls, or simply watching the night. I guess she didn’t sleep either.
We never did more than stand side-by-side those nights. We only ever said a handful of words. During the day we didn’t even look at one another. But the companionship was enough at night, and the knowledge that it would come again carried me through the day.
Then one night she changed the rules. She waited for me to come to the window and held out her hand like always. I took it like I did every night, but this time, she pulled me closer, and before I knew what was happening, her lips were on mine.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know why she was doing this, and I didn’t know if I even wanted to change our situation. But she was enthusiastic, almost desperate in her embrace, and regardless of how my mind felt, my body took over. It didn’t take long for me to have her pressed up against that window, my fingers digging into her waist, her feet digging into my back, our hips digging into each other’s.
Afterwards, she pulled up her knickers, smoothed down her skirt, and nodded her goodbye. The next morning was the same as always: not so much as a glance from her. I went to the window that night not knowing what to expect, but when she held out her hand I took it…and the night ended with her crying out my name.
Even after all of this I never told her about my mission, the thing that haunted me night and day no matter where I was or what I was doing. Well, except for when I was with her…when I was in her. Maybe I would have if we said more than five words to each other. But that wasn’t part of the agreement.
Still, she helped me without knowing it. She was my distraction, and I began watching her constantly. The way her hair seemed to move like something breathing and alive, the way her smile lit up the room even though I could tell it wasn’t real. It was only real when it was just the two of us, when she was in my arms and free.
One day I noticed she’d moved from her spot at the Gryffindor table to one beside Potter. She turned that fake smile to him, and he smiled back, and he leaned down and put his lips on what I had come to think of as mine. Rage surged through every nerve ending, but I never showed an inkling of it. Not until we met that night. I almost wondered if she would be there, but sure as the seasons, there she stood in front of our window.
She smiled her real smile at me. “Draco.”
And inexplicably, my anger melted away. Just as long as she kept that one true smile for me alone, she could do what she wanted with Potter. I would know who she really belonged to. And that night I made sure she knew it too. I had to cover her mouth to stifle the noise.
It was a night towards the end of the year that everything I’d been working for finally bore fruit. The Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts. I failed in killing Dumbledore, but Snape did it anyway. And together, we fled.
But that wasn’t the end. Not just yet. Snape, my father, everyone was furious with me. I was under strict orders to remain in my rooms until they sorted out “my mess.”
I snuck out that night. I knew the students would stay at the castle at least until Dumbledore’s funeral, and I knew she would be waiting by our window. And she was, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red with crying.
She didn’t hold out her hand this time.
“Why?” she whispered instead, and I could see she was desperate for some reason, some logic that would make it all okay.
I had none to offer, so I only stared back at her.
She walked towards me then, stopping just in front of me and gazing up through glassy eyes. Then she pulled back her hand and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. Then with the sting still fresh on my cheek she put her hand behind my head and yanked me down, crushing her lips against mine. But when I tried to put my arms around her, she shoved me away with surprising strength and hissed, “I hate you.”
I could tell she didn’t mean it. She wanted to mean it. She wanted it more than anything. But love is never so easy as all of that.
She did the only thing she could do, then. She ran. And I didn’t go after her. I went back to my rooms, just in time for the House Elf to bustle in and deliver me my breakfast.
The next time I saw Ginny Weasley was in the Daily Prophet. Her somber face stared back at me through hollow eyes, her picture just one more in a long succession of unfortunates who had died at some battle or another. I don’t even remember which. They all started running together after the first year or so.
She never did explain why she held out her hand to me that first night. I suppose I never asked. But maybe it’s better that way.
- - - - -
My school years were both the best and worst of my life. I think most people believe that, but it’s especially true for me. I had all the status a bloke could wish for: money, looks, they even called me “Prince of Slytherin.” Agree or don’t, I felt like royalty.
I had promise, too. I would serve as one of Voldemort’s greatest Death Eaters. I would rule the ranks just below the Dark Lord himself and such officers as my father and perhaps Severus Snape. A high honor for a boy so young.
My marks were decent. I was no Granger, but I did well for myself. I starred as the Seeker for my Quidditch team. I earned Prefect status and later became Head Boy. Fate served life up to me on a silver platter.
But I rarely slept. The stress of the expectations placed on me and the constant awareness that the people who laughed at my jokes during the day would gladly smother me at night stole my ability to rest. I used to get terrible dark circles under my eyes which looked worse against such pale skin. I learned a charm to hide them. I could show no weakness. The minute I did that, I was finished.
I lived with the knowledge that my friends were just enemies in disguise and that everyone had a motive. I grew up viewing the world as a series of traps I had to learn to dance around. I was an excellent dancer by the time I hit Sixth year.
That was when I met her.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I’d known of her since the cradle, practically, and I’d known her personally since before First year. Old family ties, you see. Not good ones, though.
She had hair red as a robin’s breast, eyes the color of melted chocolate and just as soft, and an orange sprinkle of freckles across her nose, cheeks, and shoulders. She only reached my chin, but she held herself in such a way that she seemed taller. She was beautiful, and temperamental, and dangerous. I noticed none of this. I saw her name, Weasley, a filthy title, and nothing more.
She changed all of that one still night in the middle of winter. Snow fell all across the grounds, big fat flakes that clung to and crystallized every surface. Of course, I stayed oblivious to this down in my dungeon room, lying fully clothed atop my bed, wide awake as usual. I finally decided to get up and walk around.
I don’t know why I did. Usually I didn’t. Usually I laid there until breakfast, cast the charm to hide the rings shadowing my eyes, and started my day. But tonight I just had to get up and move.
I left the dungeons and started wandering aimlessly through the castle. I didn’t have to worry about getting caught. When I stumbled across her, she didn’t seem too worried either. She stood before a great window, the edges frosted with frozen icing, arms holding a thick shawl tight around her shoulders. Moonlight streamed through the glass, bathing her in its frail light and making her already fair skin look even paler. Her hair shimmered with it. She must have heard me approach because she turned her head and for a long time, we only stared at each other.
I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I should have taken points. Normally that would have made my night. But something about the scene caught the breath in my throat.
I don’t know how much time passed before she stretched out her hand to me. I stared at her, wondering if she’d gone barmy or if she just didn’t recognize me. She answered my question a moment later by whispering, “Come on, Malfoy.” For the first time in my life, I did as I was told. I walked up and, hesitantly, took her hand.
And Ginny Weasley pulled me into the greatest, most terrifying, most surreal period of my life.
We met like that every night the rest of the winter, in front of that same window, sometimes watching the stars, or watching other snowfalls, or simply watching the night. I guess she didn’t sleep either.
We never did more than stand side-by-side those nights. We only ever said a handful of words. During the day we didn’t even look at one another. But the companionship was enough at night, and the knowledge that it would come again carried me through the day.
Then one night she changed the rules. She waited for me to come to the window and held out her hand like always. I took it like I did every night, but this time, she pulled me closer, and before I knew what was happening, her lips were on mine.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know why she was doing this, and I didn’t know if I even wanted to change our situation. But she was enthusiastic, almost desperate in her embrace, and regardless of how my mind felt, my body took over. It didn’t take long for me to have her pressed up against that window, my fingers digging into her waist, her feet digging into my back, our hips digging into each other’s.
Afterwards, she pulled up her knickers, smoothed down her skirt, and nodded her goodbye. The next morning was the same as always: not so much as a glance from her. I went to the window that night not knowing what to expect, but when she held out her hand I took it…and the night ended with her crying out my name.
Even after all of this I never told her about my mission, the thing that haunted me night and day no matter where I was or what I was doing. Well, except for when I was with her…when I was in her. Maybe I would have if we said more than five words to each other. But that wasn’t part of the agreement.
Still, she helped me without knowing it. She was my distraction, and I began watching her constantly. The way her hair seemed to move like something breathing and alive, the way her smile lit up the room even though I could tell it wasn’t real. It was only real when it was just the two of us, when she was in my arms and free.
One day I noticed she’d moved from her spot at the Gryffindor table to one beside Potter. She turned that fake smile to him, and he smiled back, and he leaned down and put his lips on what I had come to think of as mine. Rage surged through every nerve ending, but I never showed an inkling of it. Not until we met that night. I almost wondered if she would be there, but sure as the seasons, there she stood in front of our window.
She smiled her real smile at me. “Draco.”
And inexplicably, my anger melted away. Just as long as she kept that one true smile for me alone, she could do what she wanted with Potter. I would know who she really belonged to. And that night I made sure she knew it too. I had to cover her mouth to stifle the noise.
It was a night towards the end of the year that everything I’d been working for finally bore fruit. The Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts. I failed in killing Dumbledore, but Snape did it anyway. And together, we fled.
But that wasn’t the end. Not just yet. Snape, my father, everyone was furious with me. I was under strict orders to remain in my rooms until they sorted out “my mess.”
I snuck out that night. I knew the students would stay at the castle at least until Dumbledore’s funeral, and I knew she would be waiting by our window. And she was, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red with crying.
She didn’t hold out her hand this time.
“Why?” she whispered instead, and I could see she was desperate for some reason, some logic that would make it all okay.
I had none to offer, so I only stared back at her.
She walked towards me then, stopping just in front of me and gazing up through glassy eyes. Then she pulled back her hand and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side. Then with the sting still fresh on my cheek she put her hand behind my head and yanked me down, crushing her lips against mine. But when I tried to put my arms around her, she shoved me away with surprising strength and hissed, “I hate you.”
I could tell she didn’t mean it. She wanted to mean it. She wanted it more than anything. But love is never so easy as all of that.
She did the only thing she could do, then. She ran. And I didn’t go after her. I went back to my rooms, just in time for the House Elf to bustle in and deliver me my breakfast.
The next time I saw Ginny Weasley was in the Daily Prophet. Her somber face stared back at me through hollow eyes, her picture just one more in a long succession of unfortunates who had died at some battle or another. I don’t even remember which. They all started running together after the first year or so.
She never did explain why she held out her hand to me that first night. I suppose I never asked. But maybe it’s better that way.
The End.
Hearts Cadence is the author of 15 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 14 members. Members who liked The Window also liked 1374 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 14 members. Members who liked The Window also liked 1374 other stories.
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