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.
To Be Continued.
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