Every Season – Spring
It was over.
Five months later, the Second War against Voldemort was finally over.
She looked out the window, her breath no longer fogging up the glass, and it hadn’t for quite a while. The window, itself, was no longer frosted, or somewhat hindering her line of vision; now it was crystal clear, with the occasional watermark from where residual raindrops hadn’t quite rolled down the window’s surface.
The garden was full of life. The grass below was a deep, lush, verdant green; no sign of yellow anywhere on the small patch of earth. If there was a glimmer of yellow present in the garden, it was due to the flowers lining the fence – clumps of chrysanthemums, roses, orchids, and other various species of flower bloomed in all sorts of colours, mirroring the elation of the wizarding world as they feted Voldemort’s eradication. The lone tree near the back was reborn, getting stronger with each passing day as new patches of green, silky leaves made themselves known to the world.
It was a sight to behold and Ginny felt she could gaze for hours on end at the glory that was the backyard at 12 Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, a rush of white flew past her window in the form of petals from a neighbouring tree that had released its flowers, allowing them to scatter in the wind. The flurry of creamy white reminded her of the first snow fall from last November, and subconsciously, she began to seek out that familiar cloud of grey smoke making its steady climb toward her window.
Her eyes drifted for a moment, and then, she found it. Cutting through the petals, announcing to her that he was still here, after all this time.
As she walked downstairs to meet him, she thought about that little cloud of silver smoke and his penchant for smoking. If it weren’t for that, she wouldn’t have gone down to see him that first time last winter. She might have to thank Draco for his habit one day.
* * * * * * * *
“You’re going to kill yourself one day.”
“Yes, and when I do, I’ll allow you to be the first one to hover over my corpse as you sing ‘I told you so’,” Draco replied, smirking, as he blew a ring of smoke in Ginny’s face.
She coughed, waving the toxic cloud away from her face, revealing her slight frown.
“You shouldn’t be joking about death, Draco. We just finished a war,” she admonished, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Exactly. No more deaths,” the blond boy next to Ginny said before taking a drag on his dwindling cigarette. “So I don’t see any problem with my joke.” He flicked the cigarette to the ground, laughing as she quickly put the small butt out with the toe of her right foot, shooting him a glare as he calmed down.
“What have I told you about leaving your cigarette butts out here in the garden?” Ginny snapped, cleaning up the smouldering ashes with her wand. “We finally got this garden back to the state that it was in before the war and we’d like to keep it that way.” She ended her speech by slapping Draco on the arm for his mimicking of her the entire time in a ridiculously high falsetto. He had heard her speech more times that he could count. “You’re not very nice,” Ginny said with an even more pronounced frown.
“I never claimed to be nice.”
“Seriously, Draco, I put a lot of time and effort into this garden. My mum did, too. So I’m just a bit overprotective.”
“I know, I know, Mum. Come on, though; the war’s over, Voldemort’s been dead for about two weeks. You need to acknowledge that he’s finally gone. It’s okay to live life now.”
Ginny massaged her temples, sighing as she did so. “I don’t know, Draco,” she began, wrapping her arms around her waist, rubbing her back. She turned away from him, crouching down to sit on the worn concrete steps.
“What’s to question, Ginny?” Draco asked, sitting down beside her, resting his arms against his knees.
She turned to him, almost hesitantly, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response. “I’ve become so accustomed to living with the fear that I don’t know what to do now that he’s really gone.”
“But you never had the fear your entire life. It wasn’t until my first year that you really had something to fear. So think back; think back to the days when the war was the last thing on your mind, when you had no worries, and everything just disappeared as you revelled in simply living life.” Ginny closed her eyes, relaxing her face as she did what Draco directed of her. “Once you find that emotion, then you’ll be able to live without the fear.”
* * * * * * * *
In his eyes, she was an eternal spring.
She had a suffused warmth about her that reminded him of spring – she is warm, with tendrils of ice at the beginning, just like the calendar year’s first season. Spring is cool at first, bravely arriving to ward off the constant chill of winter. And she, too, was cold to him when he first arrived, but soon enough, she warmed to his icy demeanour, eventually thawing him, much like spring does to winter. She is no longer cold towards him, and although he is not used to it, it is what he needed, and that’s all he can ask for.
She visits him more and more now. He’s accustomed to their after-lunch ritual – after helping her mother with the dishes, she finds him outside, either on the veranda, or, since it’s now warm enough to do so, underneath the blossoming tree in the back garden.
She has come alive with the change of season, relishing each day without the presence of stark white snow. To her, spring is rebirth; a chance for the world to prove that it belongs, that it has the strength to persevere, even in the face of death. Because of this, spring is her favourite season.
* * * * * * * *
He finds her outside, sitting under the sprawling tree in the back garden, eyes glued to the book in front of her as she turns a page. He can’t help the swell of pride, or the warmth bubbling in his chest as he realizes that it is his Christmas present to her.
He takes off his blazer, setting it flat on the grass at her feet before sitting down on it, not wanting to get grass stains on his new pants.
“Ginny, I have to talk to you.”
“Hold on; let me just finish this sentence,” the ginger-haired girl in front of him replied, chewing on her bottom lip before switching to her left thumbnail. She laughs at passage from the book as she closes it, setting it down beside her. “Okay, what did you want to talk about?”
“You’re still reading that book? It’s been almost six months.” He attempts to ease into what he’s about to tell her; cushioning it with polite conversation.
“Well, I’ve been rather busy lately, so I couldn’t dedicate as much time to it as I would like. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Ah, no; I have something to tell you. I’m – I am...” He trails off, nervous as to what her reaction might be. Oh, just tell her already, Draco! he screams mentally, finding his nerves to suddenly seem superfluous. “I’m leaving Headquarters, Ginny. I’m going back home to Malfoy Manor.”
She doesn’t say anything, and he wonders if she’s even paying attention to him. “Ginny? Did you even hear what I said?”
She shakes her head, clearing it of any untoward thoughts regarding his announcement. “Yeah, that’s fantastic, Draco,” she forces out, grabbing her book, standing up with the help of the tree trunk. “I, uh, have to go inside now. I just remembered that I have to help my mum with something around the house.” And she’s inside before he has a chance to utter one syllable to her.
And like so many times in their hectic friendship, the warmth begins to fade. He lifts the blazer out from beneath him and shoves it on, not caring about the grass stains. He shivers involuntarily, shifting to sit in the space she once occupied. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight as he lets his head drop with a thunk against his knee caps. It hurts, but he could care less at this point.
Why does this always happen to me?
* * * * * * * *
She collapses on her stomach on her bed, a dry, heavy sob wracking her system. She doesn’t cry, she can’t; it seems silly for her to even think about crying over something like this.
She knew this day would come -- the day when he had to leave Headquarters for his ancestral home. She has resigned herself to that fact since his first day at 12 Grimmauld Place. But it still doesn’t change the fact that her pain is still palpable.
Ever since that first Christmas with him five months ago, something between them had changed dramatically. It wasn’t an agreement, necessarily, for they had reached that point the first time that she had found him on the veranda. No, now it was a cognitive caring for each other, where their friendship meant something more than convenience. The threads of warmth she felt whenever she was around him proved that.
He was there for her when others were unable to. They protected each other in those last days of war, putting on brave faces when they went into battle, sticking close to one another as they fought off their foes, exchanging witticisms with every tossed hex. They owed their lives to each other, one saving the other on countless occasions, for when it seemed as though their end was near, one of them would swoop in to the rescue.
Their friendship left her family baffled. Ron, especially, was unable to comprehend how his sister, full of sweetness and light, was able to associate with a Malfoy of all people. They shared looks when they thought no one was looking; knowing, amused looks that flitted across their faces anytime they were in a room with other people, looks that showed how much they were in their own world, and shared the same opinion on certain matters.
Molly, of course, noticed, and found it positively adorable. She indulged in a secretive smile anytime she caught their covert looks, their identical smirks as they revelled in a joke that only the two former enemies knew. Over his tenure at the Order’s headquarters, she had grown rather fond of the Malfoy boy, taking pleasure in his friendship with her youngest and only daughter. He was no longer closed off from the rest of the world, but now engaged Molly in conversations of his own free will, or helped her out in the kitchen with a broad smile on his face. While they claimed that their relationship was purely platonic, Molly secretly hoped that Ginny would wake up one day and see what a beautiful boy she had in front of her, and that Draco would do the same. She had long ago given up the hope that Harry married her Ginny, legally making him a part of her already large family. But then she would look at Draco and Ginny and very nearly scoffed at the memories of how little chemistry her daughter and Harry had. Ron still insisted that Ginny and Harry try to make it work, but it was done on the false hope that his friend would fall arse over teakettle in love with his sister. He still couldn’t grasp the fact that both Harry and Ginny had gotten over one another a long time ago.
Ginny’s sobs pass, and she turns to her side, grabbing one of her pillows to bring it to her chest for a hug.
Next to Luna and Neville, Draco had permanently engraved himself onto her list of best friends. They became close rather quickly, the war forcing them to learn how to fight alongside each other. As they talked more and more, they began to share similar quirks: the smirk, the glare, that weird sense of humour that only they seemed to understand. Her brothers weren’t like that. Maybe Fred and George were, but they weren’t around her as often during the war as Draco was. They kept each other sane and safe as they battled Voldemort’s army, and she almost regretted the fact that Harry killed the Dark Lord. Now that Voldemort was gone, her subconscious slowly began to remind her that one day Draco was going to leave 12 Grimmauld Place.
And she was nowhere near ready for that day.
* * * * * * * *
He felt horrible for letting Ginny know that he was going home. Which was odd, because he shouldn’t have. He was going home. It wasn’t like he was leaving her forever. They could still keep in touch, she could visit him, and vice versa. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt like a total wanker for letting her know.
They had come to rely on each other so much throughout the war for a myriad of things: emotional support, intelligent conversation, and, most importantly, life support. He was forever to be in her debt for saving his pasty arse more times than he could count.
The threads binding them together seemed frayed now as he sensed what her reaction might be. The warmth was still there, but it wasn’t as strong as it was during their time in battle, and he grew disheartened for he had relied on that warmth these past five months.
Getting up, he runs upstairs to her room, frowning as he sees her lying on her bed, a pillow encased in her arms.
“Gin?”
She looked up to see who spoke to her, releasing the pillow and placing it by her side.
“Oh, hi, Draco. What’s up?” She tries to sound cheerful, but her fidgeting belies her tone.
“Are you okay? You know, with me going home and all?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be? You finally get to go home! You can see your parents again! I’m so happy for you!” She laughs, maybe a little too loudly, and he almost believes her, but he knows her better than she thinks.
“Are you positive?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again, right? We can always visit one another.”
He shook his head slightly, imperceptive to her eyes, as he relives his thoughts coming from her mouth.
“Right, of course we can. Well, I need to go pack, so I’ll see you before I leave. Okay?”
She nodded, biting down on her lower lip, something he regards as a nervous twitch of hers, as he backed out her room, closing the door behind him.
* * * * * * * *
His parents came to collect him in the middle of the night, as she slept peacefully in her bed. He does not know why they come this late, nor do they give him an explanation. Truthfully, he’s too excited to believe that they’re alive to even care about a formality like what time they fetch him.
He left her no note, and does not stop by to bid her farewell.
As a tearful Molly Weasley wraps Draco in one last hug, Narcissa opens the front door to her former home, pulling her sapphire blue hood over her head to cover her hair from the weather outside. Draco turns away from Molly with a reluctant smile, walking to join his mother and father.
The weather outside is deceitful to the season, deceitful to his opinion of Ginny.
A flash of lightning lights up the entire night sky, and he’s gone. It’s raining.
It was over.
Five months later, the Second War against Voldemort was finally over.
She looked out the window, her breath no longer fogging up the glass, and it hadn’t for quite a while. The window, itself, was no longer frosted, or somewhat hindering her line of vision; now it was crystal clear, with the occasional watermark from where residual raindrops hadn’t quite rolled down the window’s surface.
The garden was full of life. The grass below was a deep, lush, verdant green; no sign of yellow anywhere on the small patch of earth. If there was a glimmer of yellow present in the garden, it was due to the flowers lining the fence – clumps of chrysanthemums, roses, orchids, and other various species of flower bloomed in all sorts of colours, mirroring the elation of the wizarding world as they feted Voldemort’s eradication. The lone tree near the back was reborn, getting stronger with each passing day as new patches of green, silky leaves made themselves known to the world.
It was a sight to behold and Ginny felt she could gaze for hours on end at the glory that was the backyard at 12 Grimmauld Place. Suddenly, a rush of white flew past her window in the form of petals from a neighbouring tree that had released its flowers, allowing them to scatter in the wind. The flurry of creamy white reminded her of the first snow fall from last November, and subconsciously, she began to seek out that familiar cloud of grey smoke making its steady climb toward her window.
Her eyes drifted for a moment, and then, she found it. Cutting through the petals, announcing to her that he was still here, after all this time.
As she walked downstairs to meet him, she thought about that little cloud of silver smoke and his penchant for smoking. If it weren’t for that, she wouldn’t have gone down to see him that first time last winter. She might have to thank Draco for his habit one day.
* * * * * * * *
“You’re going to kill yourself one day.”
“Yes, and when I do, I’ll allow you to be the first one to hover over my corpse as you sing ‘I told you so’,” Draco replied, smirking, as he blew a ring of smoke in Ginny’s face.
She coughed, waving the toxic cloud away from her face, revealing her slight frown.
“You shouldn’t be joking about death, Draco. We just finished a war,” she admonished, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Exactly. No more deaths,” the blond boy next to Ginny said before taking a drag on his dwindling cigarette. “So I don’t see any problem with my joke.” He flicked the cigarette to the ground, laughing as she quickly put the small butt out with the toe of her right foot, shooting him a glare as he calmed down.
“What have I told you about leaving your cigarette butts out here in the garden?” Ginny snapped, cleaning up the smouldering ashes with her wand. “We finally got this garden back to the state that it was in before the war and we’d like to keep it that way.” She ended her speech by slapping Draco on the arm for his mimicking of her the entire time in a ridiculously high falsetto. He had heard her speech more times that he could count. “You’re not very nice,” Ginny said with an even more pronounced frown.
“I never claimed to be nice.”
“Seriously, Draco, I put a lot of time and effort into this garden. My mum did, too. So I’m just a bit overprotective.”
“I know, I know, Mum. Come on, though; the war’s over, Voldemort’s been dead for about two weeks. You need to acknowledge that he’s finally gone. It’s okay to live life now.”
Ginny massaged her temples, sighing as she did so. “I don’t know, Draco,” she began, wrapping her arms around her waist, rubbing her back. She turned away from him, crouching down to sit on the worn concrete steps.
“What’s to question, Ginny?” Draco asked, sitting down beside her, resting his arms against his knees.
She turned to him, almost hesitantly, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to formulate a response. “I’ve become so accustomed to living with the fear that I don’t know what to do now that he’s really gone.”
“But you never had the fear your entire life. It wasn’t until my first year that you really had something to fear. So think back; think back to the days when the war was the last thing on your mind, when you had no worries, and everything just disappeared as you revelled in simply living life.” Ginny closed her eyes, relaxing her face as she did what Draco directed of her. “Once you find that emotion, then you’ll be able to live without the fear.”
* * * * * * * *
In his eyes, she was an eternal spring.
She had a suffused warmth about her that reminded him of spring – she is warm, with tendrils of ice at the beginning, just like the calendar year’s first season. Spring is cool at first, bravely arriving to ward off the constant chill of winter. And she, too, was cold to him when he first arrived, but soon enough, she warmed to his icy demeanour, eventually thawing him, much like spring does to winter. She is no longer cold towards him, and although he is not used to it, it is what he needed, and that’s all he can ask for.
She visits him more and more now. He’s accustomed to their after-lunch ritual – after helping her mother with the dishes, she finds him outside, either on the veranda, or, since it’s now warm enough to do so, underneath the blossoming tree in the back garden.
She has come alive with the change of season, relishing each day without the presence of stark white snow. To her, spring is rebirth; a chance for the world to prove that it belongs, that it has the strength to persevere, even in the face of death. Because of this, spring is her favourite season.
* * * * * * * *
He finds her outside, sitting under the sprawling tree in the back garden, eyes glued to the book in front of her as she turns a page. He can’t help the swell of pride, or the warmth bubbling in his chest as he realizes that it is his Christmas present to her.
He takes off his blazer, setting it flat on the grass at her feet before sitting down on it, not wanting to get grass stains on his new pants.
“Ginny, I have to talk to you.”
“Hold on; let me just finish this sentence,” the ginger-haired girl in front of him replied, chewing on her bottom lip before switching to her left thumbnail. She laughs at passage from the book as she closes it, setting it down beside her. “Okay, what did you want to talk about?”
“You’re still reading that book? It’s been almost six months.” He attempts to ease into what he’s about to tell her; cushioning it with polite conversation.
“Well, I’ve been rather busy lately, so I couldn’t dedicate as much time to it as I would like. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Ah, no; I have something to tell you. I’m – I am...” He trails off, nervous as to what her reaction might be. Oh, just tell her already, Draco! he screams mentally, finding his nerves to suddenly seem superfluous. “I’m leaving Headquarters, Ginny. I’m going back home to Malfoy Manor.”
She doesn’t say anything, and he wonders if she’s even paying attention to him. “Ginny? Did you even hear what I said?”
She shakes her head, clearing it of any untoward thoughts regarding his announcement. “Yeah, that’s fantastic, Draco,” she forces out, grabbing her book, standing up with the help of the tree trunk. “I, uh, have to go inside now. I just remembered that I have to help my mum with something around the house.” And she’s inside before he has a chance to utter one syllable to her.
And like so many times in their hectic friendship, the warmth begins to fade. He lifts the blazer out from beneath him and shoves it on, not caring about the grass stains. He shivers involuntarily, shifting to sit in the space she once occupied. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight as he lets his head drop with a thunk against his knee caps. It hurts, but he could care less at this point.
Why does this always happen to me?
* * * * * * * *
She collapses on her stomach on her bed, a dry, heavy sob wracking her system. She doesn’t cry, she can’t; it seems silly for her to even think about crying over something like this.
She knew this day would come -- the day when he had to leave Headquarters for his ancestral home. She has resigned herself to that fact since his first day at 12 Grimmauld Place. But it still doesn’t change the fact that her pain is still palpable.
Ever since that first Christmas with him five months ago, something between them had changed dramatically. It wasn’t an agreement, necessarily, for they had reached that point the first time that she had found him on the veranda. No, now it was a cognitive caring for each other, where their friendship meant something more than convenience. The threads of warmth she felt whenever she was around him proved that.
He was there for her when others were unable to. They protected each other in those last days of war, putting on brave faces when they went into battle, sticking close to one another as they fought off their foes, exchanging witticisms with every tossed hex. They owed their lives to each other, one saving the other on countless occasions, for when it seemed as though their end was near, one of them would swoop in to the rescue.
Their friendship left her family baffled. Ron, especially, was unable to comprehend how his sister, full of sweetness and light, was able to associate with a Malfoy of all people. They shared looks when they thought no one was looking; knowing, amused looks that flitted across their faces anytime they were in a room with other people, looks that showed how much they were in their own world, and shared the same opinion on certain matters.
Molly, of course, noticed, and found it positively adorable. She indulged in a secretive smile anytime she caught their covert looks, their identical smirks as they revelled in a joke that only the two former enemies knew. Over his tenure at the Order’s headquarters, she had grown rather fond of the Malfoy boy, taking pleasure in his friendship with her youngest and only daughter. He was no longer closed off from the rest of the world, but now engaged Molly in conversations of his own free will, or helped her out in the kitchen with a broad smile on his face. While they claimed that their relationship was purely platonic, Molly secretly hoped that Ginny would wake up one day and see what a beautiful boy she had in front of her, and that Draco would do the same. She had long ago given up the hope that Harry married her Ginny, legally making him a part of her already large family. But then she would look at Draco and Ginny and very nearly scoffed at the memories of how little chemistry her daughter and Harry had. Ron still insisted that Ginny and Harry try to make it work, but it was done on the false hope that his friend would fall arse over teakettle in love with his sister. He still couldn’t grasp the fact that both Harry and Ginny had gotten over one another a long time ago.
Ginny’s sobs pass, and she turns to her side, grabbing one of her pillows to bring it to her chest for a hug.
Next to Luna and Neville, Draco had permanently engraved himself onto her list of best friends. They became close rather quickly, the war forcing them to learn how to fight alongside each other. As they talked more and more, they began to share similar quirks: the smirk, the glare, that weird sense of humour that only they seemed to understand. Her brothers weren’t like that. Maybe Fred and George were, but they weren’t around her as often during the war as Draco was. They kept each other sane and safe as they battled Voldemort’s army, and she almost regretted the fact that Harry killed the Dark Lord. Now that Voldemort was gone, her subconscious slowly began to remind her that one day Draco was going to leave 12 Grimmauld Place.
And she was nowhere near ready for that day.
* * * * * * * *
He felt horrible for letting Ginny know that he was going home. Which was odd, because he shouldn’t have. He was going home. It wasn’t like he was leaving her forever. They could still keep in touch, she could visit him, and vice versa. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt like a total wanker for letting her know.
They had come to rely on each other so much throughout the war for a myriad of things: emotional support, intelligent conversation, and, most importantly, life support. He was forever to be in her debt for saving his pasty arse more times than he could count.
The threads binding them together seemed frayed now as he sensed what her reaction might be. The warmth was still there, but it wasn’t as strong as it was during their time in battle, and he grew disheartened for he had relied on that warmth these past five months.
Getting up, he runs upstairs to her room, frowning as he sees her lying on her bed, a pillow encased in her arms.
“Gin?”
She looked up to see who spoke to her, releasing the pillow and placing it by her side.
“Oh, hi, Draco. What’s up?” She tries to sound cheerful, but her fidgeting belies her tone.
“Are you okay? You know, with me going home and all?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be? You finally get to go home! You can see your parents again! I’m so happy for you!” She laughs, maybe a little too loudly, and he almost believes her, but he knows her better than she thinks.
“Are you positive?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again, right? We can always visit one another.”
He shook his head slightly, imperceptive to her eyes, as he relives his thoughts coming from her mouth.
“Right, of course we can. Well, I need to go pack, so I’ll see you before I leave. Okay?”
She nodded, biting down on her lower lip, something he regards as a nervous twitch of hers, as he backed out her room, closing the door behind him.
* * * * * * * *
His parents came to collect him in the middle of the night, as she slept peacefully in her bed. He does not know why they come this late, nor do they give him an explanation. Truthfully, he’s too excited to believe that they’re alive to even care about a formality like what time they fetch him.
He left her no note, and does not stop by to bid her farewell.
As a tearful Molly Weasley wraps Draco in one last hug, Narcissa opens the front door to her former home, pulling her sapphire blue hood over her head to cover her hair from the weather outside. Draco turns away from Molly with a reluctant smile, walking to join his mother and father.
The weather outside is deceitful to the season, deceitful to his opinion of Ginny.
A flash of lightning lights up the entire night sky, and he’s gone. It’s raining.
Author notes: Thanks for reading. Please review. :D
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