CHAPTER SIX
Draco flexed his gloved hands and wondered if he should go back inside. He was tired of being cooped up in the castle—he always got tired of being cooped up during the winter. So even though it was positively frosty outside, he’d decided to wrap up as warmly as he could and go sit in the courtyard to work on his homework. It was probably too windy to work on his essays without making a mess, but he had two exams to study for, including Transfiguration, which he was having trouble with.
But he’d been sitting outside for ten minutes now, and he hadn’t even touched his schoolbag, which lay beside him. It was not the weather that bothered him, really. He actually kind of liked it, the bracing cold; it seemed to help clear his head. And there was a lot going on in his head these days.
He’d come back to Hogwarts with the idea that it might distract him, just like he’d told Weasley. And maybe—just maybe—he’d thought he could have a fresh start. Even while he craved the normalcy of Hogwarts, he’d wanted to do things differently, he wanted to be different. He’d wanted to see if he could be better. And the funny thing was, he thought he was better—but it didn’t feel like it mattered.
Well, of course it mattered. It certainly mattered to the people he’d tormented before. But it didn’t help; it hadn’t helped him. It hadn’t stopped him thinking over all the terrible things he’d done; it hadn’t eased the guilt. Not one bit.
He just wanted to get on with his life. But he was beginning to think that would never happen.
“Hullo, Draco.”
Still lost in these gloomy thoughts, Draco looked around. “Hi—Weasley!” He shifted around quickly, nearly knocking his schoolbag to the ground. “What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you in Hogsmeade?”
Ginny Weasley stared at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “I could ask you the same thing.”
It took Draco a moment to come up with a response to this, and it was a rather childish one at that. “I asked you first.”
She smiled, and Draco found himself so distracted by the sight that he nearly missed her answer. “All right, then. I didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade. Hermione and I were supposed to meet up with Ron and Harry, and…I didn’t want to.”
Draco wasn’t sure what to say about that. He remembered what she’d said about her breaking up with Potter because of him, and he wondered if he should feel guilty for that too. “Still on the outs with Potter, then?”
Ginny looked vaguely uncomfortable, but when she spoke, he realized it wasn’t because of him. She just seemed unsure in her answer. “I suppose. I told Hermione I needed some time, but…I don’t know if we’ll ever get back together. I don’t know if I want that.” She smiled again, but it seemed forced this time. “Besides, Daphne is probably asking him out as we speak.”
“Doesn’t mean he’ll say yes,” Draco said, watching her closely.
“Well, it doesn’t matter to me,” and she sounded like she meant it. Though maybe she was just good at pretending. “Anyway. So why aren’t you in Hogsmeade?”
Draco decided to be frank with her, and found it was not difficult. “I’m not allowed to go. There were a few conditions on my coming back to school, and that was one of them. Since, you know…” He swallowed. “I’ve gotten into trouble at Hogsmeade before.” Which was a rather oblique way of saying he’d given a girl a cursed necklace in Hogsmeade, cast the Imperius Curse on her, and told her to give it to Dumbledore. To kill him.
“Oh.” Ginny looked surprised for a moment, but the look that followed in her eyes was thoughtful, not condemning. “Makes sense, I guess. Well…that’s too bad.”
Draco goggled. Too bad? Did she just say that was too bad?
“That you can’t go, I mean,” she added, sounding flustered. Maybe because Draco was still staring at her.
“Yeah, well.” He swung his legs over the side of the courtyard bench, gathering the strap on his schoolbag in one hand. “It’s no big deal. I don’t miss it.” Which was true. Missing out on Honeydukes and Zonko’s and the Three Broomsticks seemed like silly concerns…though a warm butterbeer sounded nice right about now. “Though, it would certainly be a nice distraction.”
Those last words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and then he silently cursed himself for saying that—for hearkening back to that night in the Room of Requirement, when he’d spilled his guts and told her everything, why he’d come back and how he felt. He hadn’t spoken to her since then—until now—truthfully, because he was a bit embarrassed about it.
But when he dared a look at her now—and saw her eyes on him, full of grim understanding—Draco found he was not ashamed, but rather comforted. Weirdly.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I have a load of homework to do, so I thought I’d work on that instead. We both have that Transfiguration exam—”
“Yeah, we do.” Ginny had an odd gleam in her eye—a look that Draco was a little wary of. “I have a better way to spend the afternoon, though. If you’re looking for a distraction.”
***
Ten minutes later, they were out on the Quidditch pitch, hauling necessary supplies out of the cupboards near the changing rooms—a box containing a Quaffle and a Snitch (and a Bludger, but Draco assumed they weren’t going to use that—he hoped not anyway), as well as a couple of school brooms. Draco eyed his distastefully.
“Don’t be such a snob, Malfoy,” Ginny said loftily, noting his expression. “They replaced all the school brooms a couple years ago with the latest Cleansweep models, they’re not so bad. Anyway, this way we’ll be on even footing—” Her eyes held a challenging glint “—so if, by some miracle, you beat me, I can’t claim it was because of your fancy broomstick. Doesn’t that work better for you?”
He supposed it did. Draco decided not to answer, anyway. The fact was, he had not brought his “fancy broomstick,” to school this year. He’d figured Harper would never let him onto the team, so bringing it had seemed like an ugly reminder of the friends he didn’t have anymore.
“Beat you how?” he said suddenly, latching onto something else Weasley had said. “We can’t play Quidditch with only two people.”
Ginny crouched down to open the trunk. “No, but after we throw the Quaffle around a little, I thought we could let the Snitch out and see who catches it first.”
Despite himself, Draco felt a grin coming over his face. “Oh, you are so on, Weasley. After all, I’m a Seeker, you’re not. It’ll be no contest.”
“We’ll see about that, Malfoy.”
As she took out the Quaffle, Draco removed his overcoat and gloves; his coat was too long and thick to play in properly. He watched as Weasley swept her hair away from her neck to tie it back, and as she did, she shivered. She was only wearing a jumper and a beanie hat.
“Aren’t you going to be a bit cold, flying in this weather?” Draco said. He felt a bit silly asking this—because he was showing concern for Weasley. “You don’t even have a scarf.”
Ginny gave him an odd look. Probably because, well, he was showing concern for her. “I’m fine, Malfoy.”
“Here.” He was moving before he could rethink what he was doing. “Take mine.” He began to unwind his scarf from around his neck.
“What? No, I told you, I’m fine, and—anyway, then you’ll be cold—”
“I’m wearing three layers under this fleece, Weasley,” he said, a touch impatiently. He’d felt weird enough offering; if she wasn’t going to take his damn scarf, he’d feel really stupid. “I’m plenty warm. Just take it.” He held the scarf out, feeling oddly anxious about it.
Weasley eyed it for a touch too long. Draco was just about to drop the whole thing when she finally took it from him, her movement tentative.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, as she wrapped it snugly around her neck.
Draco could not help but notice how pretty the green looked against her red hair. Feeling even stupider for noticing such a thing, he said, “It’s just a scarf, Weasley, I didn’t save your bloody life.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, let’s get up in the air before I change my mind.”
They kicked off together on their Cleansweeps. Weasley left the Quaffle behind so they could just fly and warm up for a bit, and as Draco soared into the air, he forgot that he was flying on a second-rate broom. He forgot everything, because that feeling, as the ground became small below him, as the wintry wind blasted through him, as he rose up and up, so close to the clouds—that feeling was the most wonderful thing in the world. Draco felt like he’d left everything behind on the ground, all the drama at school with the Slytherins, all the bad memories from last year, all the guilt he couldn’t shake. Up here, he was just Draco, and he was completely free.
They flew around a bit, and then Ginny retrieved the Quaffle. They had fun just passing it between each other for a while, attempting more daring throws and catches each time, and then they took turns playing Keeper while the other tried to score. Weasley was way better at scoring than he was, but Draco wasn’t worried about that, because he was going to wipe the floor with her when it came to catching the Snitch.
And he did. When she finally let it out, they both flew over the pitch for a few minutes, scouting for the winged Snitch, but it was Draco who saw it first, hovering near the bottom of the stands. He launched himself into a dive, and Weasley followed suit, but she couldn’t catch him in time. The Snitch was his.
“What did I tell you, Weasley?” he said smugly, the struggling Snitch clasped in his hand. To his delight, Weasley actually looked dismayed.
“All right, then.” She adjusted his scarf around her neck. “Two out of three?”
“You like losing that much?”
“Scared you can’t keep up, Malfoy?”
He’d laughed then—actually laughed, and it felt strange and good at the same time. He let the Snitch go, and they went for it again, twice more. Weasley did catch it the second time, but the third time, he won again, shooting high into the air to catch it, where it was zipping back and forth way above them.
“What was that,” Draco said, as they flew down to the ground, “about not being able to claim that I won because I had the better broomstick?”
The smile playing at Weasley’s lips was both rueful and impish. “How do you know I didn’t let you win, Malfoy? Maybe I felt sorry for you.”
“You didn’t,” he insisted, as his feet touched the ground and he climbed off his broom, but a low, swooping feeling rushed through him. It was not a nice feeling. Maybe I felt sorry for you. “Or…is that the only reason you’re here?”
Ginny furrowed her brow as she climbed off her broom and held it upright. “What are you talking about?”
Draco gestured at the pitch around them. A heavy, familiar cloud was threatening to overtake the high the flying had given him—a dark cloud of misery. “Is that why you asked me to come out here? Because…you felt sorry for me?” He did not know why the idea should make him so unhappy, but it did.
Weasley said bluntly, “Don’t be stupid, Malfoy. Why should I feel sorry for you?”
He met her gaze then, and she met his, and he knew she was remembering the night they’d spent together in the Room of Requirement. After a moment’s silence, Ginny shook her head. “I don’t feel sorry for you, Malfoy. I meant that, when I said it that night. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you feel remorse for all the things you did. I just…don’t think you should let it take over your life.” She looked away awkwardly.
“Right.” Draco’s voice sounded hollow when he spoke. “So this was just about…finding me a distraction.” She’d said as much, so why should that bother him?
“It was about finding a distraction,” she said sharply, “as much for me as for you.”
This startled him. “What? What do you mean?”
Ginny sighed. She let her broom fall to the ground and removed her hat, running a hand over her windswept hair. “The thing is…I’ve been thinking a lot, lately.” She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it out. “And I realized I’ve been…very angry. At the Slytherins, at first, only, it wasn’t really you lot I was angry at. I’ve been angry at Voldemort, of course, and all his Death Eaters, but…I’ve also been angry with Harry. Because he wasn’t here last year, which is stupid enough, but what’s worse is…I’ve also been angry with…” She hesitated. “It sounds stupid to even say it.”
Draco cleared his throat. She looked so vulnerable, so uncertain, fidgeting with her hair tie between her hands. So of course, he said the most encouraging thing he could think of, which was, “Don’t worry, Weasley, you say stupid things all the time. I won’t judge you.”
She laughed at that. “I suppose that’s why I’m telling you this.” She inhaled a breath and went on. “I’ve been angry with Fred. My brother Fred.” She clenched her hands around her hair tie. “He died last year. In the battle here.”
She didn’t have to tell him. He knew.
Ginny let out a long breath. “Which does sound stupid.” Slowly, she lowered herself down to the ground and sat, her knees pulled up before her and her arms slung over them. “But I realized, recently. I’ve been angry because it’s easier that way. It’s easier to be angry at him, for dying, because otherwise—otherwise—”
“Otherwise you have to admit he’s really gone,” Draco said, and he was just as surprised to hear his words as Weasley was, judging by the way she looked at him.
“Yes,” she said, and though that was all she said, Draco heard her unspoken question. Heaving his own sigh, he let his broomstick fall to the side and seated himself beside her, mirroring her pose.
“You told me before that I didn’t lose anyone.” He gazed straight ahead at the stands, rising up high before them. “Or that I didn’t watch any friends die. But I did. I lost Vince—Crabbe. And I know he was a bloody terror last year, but…well, he was my oldest friend. I’d known him since we were little, before coming to Hogwarts, and even though he turned out that way, in the end…it was still hard. Losing him.” He shook his head. “In fact, it was the last straw. The confirmation that my father’s life wasn’t for me.”
Weasley stayed silent, but Draco could feel her looking at him. He plucked idly at a blade of grass and chucked it away from him. “So…I get it. Maybe not to the extent that you’re going through, but. Being angry at your brother, that’s not stupid. I understand.”
With some difficulty, he forced himself to look at her. Her eyes glimmered with a strange light, as though she was seeing him for the first time, or seeing something about him she hadn’t seen before. Maybe she was. A rush of hope awakened inside him, though whether that hope was for himself or something else entirely, he couldn’t say.
Ginny pulled her hair tie over her wrist and clasped her hands before her. “Well. When I realized what I was doing, and why…I dunno. It’s kind of a relief, not to be so angry anymore. But it also meant I had to face it all—everything that happened, especially losing Fred—and…try to deal with it.”
“And are you?” Draco found he was desperate for her answer, desperate to know if it was possible.
She shrugged, but the roughness of her voice belied this casual gesture. “I don’t know. I just try to make it from one day to the next. Sometimes, it hurts so much that I’m not sure I can do it, and sometimes, it hurts less, and, well…I just hope that, one day, it will always hurt less.”
Draco stared at her, recognizing this sentiment at once. It was near exactly the same thing she’d said to him before. “So…that night…I mean—” he fumbled, feeling awkward for mentioning it. “What you said about…going on, day after day, and one day it might not be so hard anymore—you weren’t just talking about me.”
“No.” She met his eyes briefly, just long enough for him to see the fleeting smile that flickered over her lips. “I wasn’t.”
Draco gazed at her a second longer, and then he looked up at the cold, gray sky. A sliver of sunlight peeked out from behind a drifting cloud, and though Draco could not feel its warmth, it was nice to know it was there.
“I think you can do it, you know,” Ginny said suddenly. “Live with it, I mean. You can learn to live with what you did.” She cast him a sidelong glance and added wryly, “You’re a survivor, Malfoy.”
Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
As though reading his mind, she said, “That’s not a bad thing, you know. It means…” She paused, looking as though she was trying to decide what to say. Or how to say it. “It means that, you know, what you said. About being a coward. It’s not true.”
Draco’s heart surged. He stared at Ginny in amazement, half-turning towards her. “Do you really think that?”
“I do.” And she sounded so confident, so certain, as though it were not only her opinion, but proven fact. “So what you said, that you were afraid you could make the same choices over again…that’s rubbish, Malfoy. For one thing, there’s no use worrying over what may never happen, and for another…I just don’t think you would.” She leaned back, stretching her legs out before her. “Maybe that doesn’t mean much, but—”
“It means everything,” Draco said, and his voice was rough too.
Weasley arched an eyebrow at him.
He smiled grimly. “Coming from you, I mean.”
“Oh.” She tossed her head back. “Right.”
“Right.”
She looked at him then—really looked at him, her eyes so keen and solemn that he felt locked in place. “Draco.”
“Yeah?”
She sat up straight, and when she did, she seemed much closer than she was before. The small space between them suddenly felt alive, rife with magic, and even if Draco had wanted to pull away, he didn’t think he could have.
“Look.” She was so close that he could hear her breath stutter in her throat. “I want you to know that, when I asked you out here today…I wasn’t planning this. All right?”
“Er…all right.” Draco frowned. “Wait, planning what?”
“It’s just…” She leaned towards him—so close that he couldn’t keep his gaze from falling to her mouth, noting of the curve of her jaw and the shape of her lips. “Today, I’m feeling…curious.”
She kissed him.
She actually kissed him. Her lips were on his, soft as a whisper, light as a spring breeze. A part of Draco was terrified, his heart like a thunderstorm in his chest. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into it, reaching a hand up to cup her cold cheek. Something gave way inside of him—some darkness, some pain, eking away with every second he kissed her.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, they both pulled away, just far enough to catch a breath. Draco’s hand slipped from her cheek to her neck, his fingers tangling in his own scarf, burying beneath it until he could feel her pulse, fluttering beneath his touch.
He gulped for air and asked, “What are you doing?”
“The same thing you’re doing, it would seem,” was her breathless answer. Her eyes opened, and they were glittering and volatile and bold.
“I mean…why?” He was afraid to know, and yet he held onto her, also afraid to let go. “And don’t say it’s because you’re feeling curious.”
“It’s because I’m feeling—” She shifted around and reached up to grasp his wrist, anchoring his hold on her. “It’s because I…need this. Need you.” She looked so grave. “I know it’s mad, but…look, I was meant to go to Hogsmeade today, and see all my friends, but just the thought of it made me feel…so alone. And then I saw you, in the courtyard, and you were alone, and I just thought—I think—I don’t know, Malfoy. Is that good enough for you?”
Draco stared at her. There was real frustration in her eyes, that she couldn’t or didn’t know how to explain herself. But he understood all the same. It was a wonder to think—because she was such a hero, and so revered and loved by everybody, but…Ginny Weasley was lonely. Just like he was.
So he said, his voice a soft hum, “Yeah. That’s good enough for me.”
He lifted his hand and smoothed it over her tousled hair, bringing her lips to his for another kiss. This time, he kissed her with abandon, with everything he had inside him, the good and the bad and all the things he hadn’t sorted out yet. And as her lips parted beneath his, as he tangled his fingers in her hair, as she curled her hand behind his neck, he thought, maybe, that this could be enough. Enough to get by with, day after day, until it didn’t hurt so much anymore.
THE END
Draco flexed his gloved hands and wondered if he should go back inside. He was tired of being cooped up in the castle—he always got tired of being cooped up during the winter. So even though it was positively frosty outside, he’d decided to wrap up as warmly as he could and go sit in the courtyard to work on his homework. It was probably too windy to work on his essays without making a mess, but he had two exams to study for, including Transfiguration, which he was having trouble with.
But he’d been sitting outside for ten minutes now, and he hadn’t even touched his schoolbag, which lay beside him. It was not the weather that bothered him, really. He actually kind of liked it, the bracing cold; it seemed to help clear his head. And there was a lot going on in his head these days.
He’d come back to Hogwarts with the idea that it might distract him, just like he’d told Weasley. And maybe—just maybe—he’d thought he could have a fresh start. Even while he craved the normalcy of Hogwarts, he’d wanted to do things differently, he wanted to be different. He’d wanted to see if he could be better. And the funny thing was, he thought he was better—but it didn’t feel like it mattered.
Well, of course it mattered. It certainly mattered to the people he’d tormented before. But it didn’t help; it hadn’t helped him. It hadn’t stopped him thinking over all the terrible things he’d done; it hadn’t eased the guilt. Not one bit.
He just wanted to get on with his life. But he was beginning to think that would never happen.
“Hullo, Draco.”
Still lost in these gloomy thoughts, Draco looked around. “Hi—Weasley!” He shifted around quickly, nearly knocking his schoolbag to the ground. “What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you in Hogsmeade?”
Ginny Weasley stared at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “I could ask you the same thing.”
It took Draco a moment to come up with a response to this, and it was a rather childish one at that. “I asked you first.”
She smiled, and Draco found himself so distracted by the sight that he nearly missed her answer. “All right, then. I didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade. Hermione and I were supposed to meet up with Ron and Harry, and…I didn’t want to.”
Draco wasn’t sure what to say about that. He remembered what she’d said about her breaking up with Potter because of him, and he wondered if he should feel guilty for that too. “Still on the outs with Potter, then?”
Ginny looked vaguely uncomfortable, but when she spoke, he realized it wasn’t because of him. She just seemed unsure in her answer. “I suppose. I told Hermione I needed some time, but…I don’t know if we’ll ever get back together. I don’t know if I want that.” She smiled again, but it seemed forced this time. “Besides, Daphne is probably asking him out as we speak.”
“Doesn’t mean he’ll say yes,” Draco said, watching her closely.
“Well, it doesn’t matter to me,” and she sounded like she meant it. Though maybe she was just good at pretending. “Anyway. So why aren’t you in Hogsmeade?”
Draco decided to be frank with her, and found it was not difficult. “I’m not allowed to go. There were a few conditions on my coming back to school, and that was one of them. Since, you know…” He swallowed. “I’ve gotten into trouble at Hogsmeade before.” Which was a rather oblique way of saying he’d given a girl a cursed necklace in Hogsmeade, cast the Imperius Curse on her, and told her to give it to Dumbledore. To kill him.
“Oh.” Ginny looked surprised for a moment, but the look that followed in her eyes was thoughtful, not condemning. “Makes sense, I guess. Well…that’s too bad.”
Draco goggled. Too bad? Did she just say that was too bad?
“That you can’t go, I mean,” she added, sounding flustered. Maybe because Draco was still staring at her.
“Yeah, well.” He swung his legs over the side of the courtyard bench, gathering the strap on his schoolbag in one hand. “It’s no big deal. I don’t miss it.” Which was true. Missing out on Honeydukes and Zonko’s and the Three Broomsticks seemed like silly concerns…though a warm butterbeer sounded nice right about now. “Though, it would certainly be a nice distraction.”
Those last words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying, and then he silently cursed himself for saying that—for hearkening back to that night in the Room of Requirement, when he’d spilled his guts and told her everything, why he’d come back and how he felt. He hadn’t spoken to her since then—until now—truthfully, because he was a bit embarrassed about it.
But when he dared a look at her now—and saw her eyes on him, full of grim understanding—Draco found he was not ashamed, but rather comforted. Weirdly.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway. I have a load of homework to do, so I thought I’d work on that instead. We both have that Transfiguration exam—”
“Yeah, we do.” Ginny had an odd gleam in her eye—a look that Draco was a little wary of. “I have a better way to spend the afternoon, though. If you’re looking for a distraction.”
Ten minutes later, they were out on the Quidditch pitch, hauling necessary supplies out of the cupboards near the changing rooms—a box containing a Quaffle and a Snitch (and a Bludger, but Draco assumed they weren’t going to use that—he hoped not anyway), as well as a couple of school brooms. Draco eyed his distastefully.
“Don’t be such a snob, Malfoy,” Ginny said loftily, noting his expression. “They replaced all the school brooms a couple years ago with the latest Cleansweep models, they’re not so bad. Anyway, this way we’ll be on even footing—” Her eyes held a challenging glint “—so if, by some miracle, you beat me, I can’t claim it was because of your fancy broomstick. Doesn’t that work better for you?”
He supposed it did. Draco decided not to answer, anyway. The fact was, he had not brought his “fancy broomstick,” to school this year. He’d figured Harper would never let him onto the team, so bringing it had seemed like an ugly reminder of the friends he didn’t have anymore.
“Beat you how?” he said suddenly, latching onto something else Weasley had said. “We can’t play Quidditch with only two people.”
Ginny crouched down to open the trunk. “No, but after we throw the Quaffle around a little, I thought we could let the Snitch out and see who catches it first.”
Despite himself, Draco felt a grin coming over his face. “Oh, you are so on, Weasley. After all, I’m a Seeker, you’re not. It’ll be no contest.”
“We’ll see about that, Malfoy.”
As she took out the Quaffle, Draco removed his overcoat and gloves; his coat was too long and thick to play in properly. He watched as Weasley swept her hair away from her neck to tie it back, and as she did, she shivered. She was only wearing a jumper and a beanie hat.
“Aren’t you going to be a bit cold, flying in this weather?” Draco said. He felt a bit silly asking this—because he was showing concern for Weasley. “You don’t even have a scarf.”
Ginny gave him an odd look. Probably because, well, he was showing concern for her. “I’m fine, Malfoy.”
“Here.” He was moving before he could rethink what he was doing. “Take mine.” He began to unwind his scarf from around his neck.
“What? No, I told you, I’m fine, and—anyway, then you’ll be cold—”
“I’m wearing three layers under this fleece, Weasley,” he said, a touch impatiently. He’d felt weird enough offering; if she wasn’t going to take his damn scarf, he’d feel really stupid. “I’m plenty warm. Just take it.” He held the scarf out, feeling oddly anxious about it.
Weasley eyed it for a touch too long. Draco was just about to drop the whole thing when she finally took it from him, her movement tentative.
“Thanks,” she said quietly, as she wrapped it snugly around her neck.
Draco could not help but notice how pretty the green looked against her red hair. Feeling even stupider for noticing such a thing, he said, “It’s just a scarf, Weasley, I didn’t save your bloody life.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Come on, let’s get up in the air before I change my mind.”
They kicked off together on their Cleansweeps. Weasley left the Quaffle behind so they could just fly and warm up for a bit, and as Draco soared into the air, he forgot that he was flying on a second-rate broom. He forgot everything, because that feeling, as the ground became small below him, as the wintry wind blasted through him, as he rose up and up, so close to the clouds—that feeling was the most wonderful thing in the world. Draco felt like he’d left everything behind on the ground, all the drama at school with the Slytherins, all the bad memories from last year, all the guilt he couldn’t shake. Up here, he was just Draco, and he was completely free.
They flew around a bit, and then Ginny retrieved the Quaffle. They had fun just passing it between each other for a while, attempting more daring throws and catches each time, and then they took turns playing Keeper while the other tried to score. Weasley was way better at scoring than he was, but Draco wasn’t worried about that, because he was going to wipe the floor with her when it came to catching the Snitch.
And he did. When she finally let it out, they both flew over the pitch for a few minutes, scouting for the winged Snitch, but it was Draco who saw it first, hovering near the bottom of the stands. He launched himself into a dive, and Weasley followed suit, but she couldn’t catch him in time. The Snitch was his.
“What did I tell you, Weasley?” he said smugly, the struggling Snitch clasped in his hand. To his delight, Weasley actually looked dismayed.
“All right, then.” She adjusted his scarf around her neck. “Two out of three?”
“You like losing that much?”
“Scared you can’t keep up, Malfoy?”
He’d laughed then—actually laughed, and it felt strange and good at the same time. He let the Snitch go, and they went for it again, twice more. Weasley did catch it the second time, but the third time, he won again, shooting high into the air to catch it, where it was zipping back and forth way above them.
“What was that,” Draco said, as they flew down to the ground, “about not being able to claim that I won because I had the better broomstick?”
The smile playing at Weasley’s lips was both rueful and impish. “How do you know I didn’t let you win, Malfoy? Maybe I felt sorry for you.”
“You didn’t,” he insisted, as his feet touched the ground and he climbed off his broom, but a low, swooping feeling rushed through him. It was not a nice feeling. Maybe I felt sorry for you. “Or…is that the only reason you’re here?”
Ginny furrowed her brow as she climbed off her broom and held it upright. “What are you talking about?”
Draco gestured at the pitch around them. A heavy, familiar cloud was threatening to overtake the high the flying had given him—a dark cloud of misery. “Is that why you asked me to come out here? Because…you felt sorry for me?” He did not know why the idea should make him so unhappy, but it did.
Weasley said bluntly, “Don’t be stupid, Malfoy. Why should I feel sorry for you?”
He met her gaze then, and she met his, and he knew she was remembering the night they’d spent together in the Room of Requirement. After a moment’s silence, Ginny shook her head. “I don’t feel sorry for you, Malfoy. I meant that, when I said it that night. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that you feel remorse for all the things you did. I just…don’t think you should let it take over your life.” She looked away awkwardly.
“Right.” Draco’s voice sounded hollow when he spoke. “So this was just about…finding me a distraction.” She’d said as much, so why should that bother him?
“It was about finding a distraction,” she said sharply, “as much for me as for you.”
This startled him. “What? What do you mean?”
Ginny sighed. She let her broom fall to the ground and removed her hat, running a hand over her windswept hair. “The thing is…I’ve been thinking a lot, lately.” She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it out. “And I realized I’ve been…very angry. At the Slytherins, at first, only, it wasn’t really you lot I was angry at. I’ve been angry at Voldemort, of course, and all his Death Eaters, but…I’ve also been angry with Harry. Because he wasn’t here last year, which is stupid enough, but what’s worse is…I’ve also been angry with…” She hesitated. “It sounds stupid to even say it.”
Draco cleared his throat. She looked so vulnerable, so uncertain, fidgeting with her hair tie between her hands. So of course, he said the most encouraging thing he could think of, which was, “Don’t worry, Weasley, you say stupid things all the time. I won’t judge you.”
She laughed at that. “I suppose that’s why I’m telling you this.” She inhaled a breath and went on. “I’ve been angry with Fred. My brother Fred.” She clenched her hands around her hair tie. “He died last year. In the battle here.”
She didn’t have to tell him. He knew.
Ginny let out a long breath. “Which does sound stupid.” Slowly, she lowered herself down to the ground and sat, her knees pulled up before her and her arms slung over them. “But I realized, recently. I’ve been angry because it’s easier that way. It’s easier to be angry at him, for dying, because otherwise—otherwise—”
“Otherwise you have to admit he’s really gone,” Draco said, and he was just as surprised to hear his words as Weasley was, judging by the way she looked at him.
“Yes,” she said, and though that was all she said, Draco heard her unspoken question. Heaving his own sigh, he let his broomstick fall to the side and seated himself beside her, mirroring her pose.
“You told me before that I didn’t lose anyone.” He gazed straight ahead at the stands, rising up high before them. “Or that I didn’t watch any friends die. But I did. I lost Vince—Crabbe. And I know he was a bloody terror last year, but…well, he was my oldest friend. I’d known him since we were little, before coming to Hogwarts, and even though he turned out that way, in the end…it was still hard. Losing him.” He shook his head. “In fact, it was the last straw. The confirmation that my father’s life wasn’t for me.”
Weasley stayed silent, but Draco could feel her looking at him. He plucked idly at a blade of grass and chucked it away from him. “So…I get it. Maybe not to the extent that you’re going through, but. Being angry at your brother, that’s not stupid. I understand.”
With some difficulty, he forced himself to look at her. Her eyes glimmered with a strange light, as though she was seeing him for the first time, or seeing something about him she hadn’t seen before. Maybe she was. A rush of hope awakened inside him, though whether that hope was for himself or something else entirely, he couldn’t say.
Ginny pulled her hair tie over her wrist and clasped her hands before her. “Well. When I realized what I was doing, and why…I dunno. It’s kind of a relief, not to be so angry anymore. But it also meant I had to face it all—everything that happened, especially losing Fred—and…try to deal with it.”
“And are you?” Draco found he was desperate for her answer, desperate to know if it was possible.
She shrugged, but the roughness of her voice belied this casual gesture. “I don’t know. I just try to make it from one day to the next. Sometimes, it hurts so much that I’m not sure I can do it, and sometimes, it hurts less, and, well…I just hope that, one day, it will always hurt less.”
Draco stared at her, recognizing this sentiment at once. It was near exactly the same thing she’d said to him before. “So…that night…I mean—” he fumbled, feeling awkward for mentioning it. “What you said about…going on, day after day, and one day it might not be so hard anymore—you weren’t just talking about me.”
“No.” She met his eyes briefly, just long enough for him to see the fleeting smile that flickered over her lips. “I wasn’t.”
Draco gazed at her a second longer, and then he looked up at the cold, gray sky. A sliver of sunlight peeked out from behind a drifting cloud, and though Draco could not feel its warmth, it was nice to know it was there.
“I think you can do it, you know,” Ginny said suddenly. “Live with it, I mean. You can learn to live with what you did.” She cast him a sidelong glance and added wryly, “You’re a survivor, Malfoy.”
Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
As though reading his mind, she said, “That’s not a bad thing, you know. It means…” She paused, looking as though she was trying to decide what to say. Or how to say it. “It means that, you know, what you said. About being a coward. It’s not true.”
Draco’s heart surged. He stared at Ginny in amazement, half-turning towards her. “Do you really think that?”
“I do.” And she sounded so confident, so certain, as though it were not only her opinion, but proven fact. “So what you said, that you were afraid you could make the same choices over again…that’s rubbish, Malfoy. For one thing, there’s no use worrying over what may never happen, and for another…I just don’t think you would.” She leaned back, stretching her legs out before her. “Maybe that doesn’t mean much, but—”
“It means everything,” Draco said, and his voice was rough too.
Weasley arched an eyebrow at him.
He smiled grimly. “Coming from you, I mean.”
“Oh.” She tossed her head back. “Right.”
“Right.”
She looked at him then—really looked at him, her eyes so keen and solemn that he felt locked in place. “Draco.”
“Yeah?”
She sat up straight, and when she did, she seemed much closer than she was before. The small space between them suddenly felt alive, rife with magic, and even if Draco had wanted to pull away, he didn’t think he could have.
“Look.” She was so close that he could hear her breath stutter in her throat. “I want you to know that, when I asked you out here today…I wasn’t planning this. All right?”
“Er…all right.” Draco frowned. “Wait, planning what?”
“It’s just…” She leaned towards him—so close that he couldn’t keep his gaze from falling to her mouth, noting of the curve of her jaw and the shape of her lips. “Today, I’m feeling…curious.”
She kissed him.
She actually kissed him. Her lips were on his, soft as a whisper, light as a spring breeze. A part of Draco was terrified, his heart like a thunderstorm in his chest. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into it, reaching a hand up to cup her cold cheek. Something gave way inside of him—some darkness, some pain, eking away with every second he kissed her.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, they both pulled away, just far enough to catch a breath. Draco’s hand slipped from her cheek to her neck, his fingers tangling in his own scarf, burying beneath it until he could feel her pulse, fluttering beneath his touch.
He gulped for air and asked, “What are you doing?”
“The same thing you’re doing, it would seem,” was her breathless answer. Her eyes opened, and they were glittering and volatile and bold.
“I mean…why?” He was afraid to know, and yet he held onto her, also afraid to let go. “And don’t say it’s because you’re feeling curious.”
“It’s because I’m feeling—” She shifted around and reached up to grasp his wrist, anchoring his hold on her. “It’s because I…need this. Need you.” She looked so grave. “I know it’s mad, but…look, I was meant to go to Hogsmeade today, and see all my friends, but just the thought of it made me feel…so alone. And then I saw you, in the courtyard, and you were alone, and I just thought—I think—I don’t know, Malfoy. Is that good enough for you?”
Draco stared at her. There was real frustration in her eyes, that she couldn’t or didn’t know how to explain herself. But he understood all the same. It was a wonder to think—because she was such a hero, and so revered and loved by everybody, but…Ginny Weasley was lonely. Just like he was.
So he said, his voice a soft hum, “Yeah. That’s good enough for me.”
He lifted his hand and smoothed it over her tousled hair, bringing her lips to his for another kiss. This time, he kissed her with abandon, with everything he had inside him, the good and the bad and all the things he hadn’t sorted out yet. And as her lips parted beneath his, as he tangled his fingers in her hair, as she curled her hand behind his neck, he thought, maybe, that this could be enough. Enough to get by with, day after day, until it didn’t hurt so much anymore.
The End.
Jaden Malfoy is the author of 3 other stories.
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