The Moment She Left Him

Draped across her bed, staring aimlessly out of the window, Ginny watched the low moon rising over the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. She was so in the habit of thinking about Draco as hers that she occasionally forgot that he no longer belonged her, that he had never belonged to her. The only bloody thing that would ever own Draco Malfoy, that would possess him until the moment he exhaled his last breath from that exquisite body of his, was Lucius Malfoy, the Malfoy legacy, and all the billions of Galleons that went with it.

Bloody, gutless prat, she thought, turning over and rolling on her back for a better view of her crimson canopy. Screw the moon and screw him, she thought bitterly. It had been twenty-nine days, seven hours, and thirty-seven minutes since she had flooed out of his room at the Manor. I'm seventeen years old, she thought desperately; it's going to be a long goddamn life.

It had been a grand exit, that much she knew. Now she would have to figure out how she was going to live with her decision. The vacant emptiness of that night returned to her, fluttering above her heart and clouding her mind. He was her heart, her soul, and her whole damn world. She breathed for him. When she found herself reduced to hiding in his closet, watching him interacting with his supposed almost fiancée, it had broken her. She had been reduced to a shell, humiliated beyond comprehension, realizing the position that she really had in his life was a sham. She was a Weasley, and he was a Malfoy. She was of a family which belong to the Order. He was of the Death Eating variety. Oh, there was also the War. That damn War which was escalating ever so slowly and would soon break out into an all out civil war, the likes of which had not been seen for many years, not since before The Boy Who Lived had been given his scar.

The War had taken certain choices and decisions and forced them on both. They didn't have the luxury of falling in love in a time when differences could be set aside indefinitely or swept under the proverbial carpet. Choices had to be made. She stepped over to the right, to the light of the Order, to the ways of her world. He stepped to the left, to the dark of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, to the ways of his world, the only world he had ever known. The chasm now dividing them was so great it could never be breached.

She once believed that their love was greater than the War, than their families, than the entire wizarding world. She believed he would cross over to the Order, forsake his family and his legacy, for her. What a fool she had been. She saw that he had a choice. He saw no choice. She called him weak, a fool, and a slave to his family's fortune and incestuous belief in superiority and destiny. He had fallen silent. In the end, she thought he truly believed he had no choice. When his weakness, his blindness finally encroached upon their relationship, when his Slytherin-like sword had pierced her heart with its forked tongue, she had spurned him. Then she left him to die her own painful, solitary death. Now she lay on her bed counting the days of her death, from the moment she left him.

Getting Slowly To His Feet

It was six months into the War, actually it was a year and a half into the War, but six months into the hell of the War. Draco sat at the back of a large, cavernous room, at an old wooden table with his long legs stretched out in front of him. The raid on Hogsmeade the night before had drained him. He looked like hell with torn and bloodied robes, hair askew, dark circles under his eyes, and a vacant expression in his gaze.

One scene played over and over again in his mind. He had seen it, smelt it, felt it so many times he believed that he might just be going mad. Their mission had been to take the town. Their leaders believed it would be a quick job, given the element of surprise and their greater numbers. However, the Order had been prepared and waiting for their arrival. Hexes, stunners, Avada's, smoke bombs, and such all formed the backdrop. There was the screaming, of course, the terror, and the chaos.

Then it happened. He was half-hidden behind a large tree and peering out at the battlefield, wand at the ready. A curse of green light flew past his nose and hit her. She fell, screaming, to the battlefield ground. He couldn't move. He felt as if his feet and his hands were immobilized. Maybe it was a hex, he would tell himself later. He saw her moaning and writhing on the ground. Then her attacker stood above her. She looked up and begged for mercy, begged for life. He had seen the stripped down fear in her wide eyes, the desperate tone in her voice. Her aggressor lowered his wand for just a moment. Was he moved by her pleas, or did he recognize her voice? Then she struck him with her other hand, holding that second wand. She Avada'd him, and he fell, red hair mixing with the brown of the earth.

Then her eyes turned on the back of his companion. He stood dueling with another. He wore the crimson robes of the Order, that mat of tousled dark hair, his glasses slightly askew. She drew her wand, but before she could strike with the full curse, Draco suddenly found his arm moving. That movement caught her eye. She looked up at him, their eyes locked, and she smiled knowingly a second before he struck her with the killing curse. Her eyes went wide with disbelief and horror. Then he saw her body lying motionless on the ground, next to the red haired boy. He had killed his childhood friend, his some time confidant and some time irritant. He saw Pansy's face, contorted with betrayal, eyes staring dead ahead, lying on the ground in Hogsmeade.

"Draco," he looked up at the call of his name. "Get some sleep. You need to be well rested. There's more to be done in the morning."

"Yes, Father," he replied, slowly getting to his feet.

The Eyes of The Order on Her

Eight months later, two days before the infamous Battle of Hogwarts, the door opened at 12 Grimmauld Place. Three wizards stepped inside. Mad Eye Moody and Remus Lupin were flanking a third, who appeared seconds after his invisibility cloak was removed. He was a tall, fully cloaked and hooded wizard in slightly worn black leather boots. When he pulled his hood down, there was an audible gasp from the small crowd gathered around the entryway. A dozen or more wands were immediately drawn into striking position. The tall wizard made no move, only a familiar smirk worked its way across his face as he stood facing them, unflinching and unrepentant.

Out from behind the crowd, Albus Dumbledore quickly made his way toward the trio at the door, now with a semi-circle of the Order holding the intruder at bay. No one spoke. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you made it here safely," the old wizard said in a gentle voice. "Thank you Remus and Alastor." He acknowledged them with a dismissive nod. The two wizards broke ranks and melded into the crowd. Albus then turned to the members of the Order gathered there.

"Please, everyone, lower your wands. Mr. Malfoy is here in the service of The Order. He has been providing us with very valuable information throughout the War. We both feel the upcoming battle will be crucial to the outcome of the War. It is time that I made his identity known to you. Now, let us gather for the meeting." With that, a buzz of chatter ran through the room as all wands lowered simultaneously to rest.

Everyone present left for the room adjacent to the kitchen to attend the meeting. Everyone except Ginny. She stood leaning against the wall in the entrance hall. The same place she was standing when she saw him arrive, when Harry shoved her behind him and drew his wand. The place where he walked right by her, his cloak brushing her arm. She strained over Harry's form to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but he strode right past her, eyes never wavering from his chosen path. Ginny closed her eyes and sank to the floor, drawing her knees up close to her chest, and hugging them tightly with her arms. No one could make an entrance like that, no one but Draco Bloody Malfoy.

She dropped her forehead to her knees and closed her eyes. She wasn't an official member of the Order. She wasn't privy to their planning or their meetings or their strategy sessions. She was the lone Weasley in the dark. She had given up her place in the Order after Ron died in the Battle of Hogsmeade. It had been a family decision. They did not want to risk the life of their youngest sibling, their only sister, and their only daughter. Ginny had relented without too much of a protest because she saw how much her parents had been affected by Ron's death. She knew her loss would be the end of them both. Now she sat on the floor of 12 Grimmauld Place waiting on the outside while Malfoy spoke to The Order.

He hadn't even glanced at her. Did he realize she was in that crowd of people challenging him? Harry had thrown her behind him so quickly that she barely had time to react. Harry was like that now. They all were. Harry, who had always been Ron's ego and Ron, Harry's id, had turned into a complicated mix of the both. Harry, who felt the loss of Ron more than almost anyone else, stepped up to try to fill those shoes, to be their fallen son, their fallen brother, their fallen friend. He was as overly protective of Ginny as Ron had been. Ginny cringed at this. He was protective of her out of a misplaced sense of duty, and she had no need of his protection. She felt she should be giving him her protection, not the other way around. Since Ron's death, everything had been turned around.

She thew her head back against the wall with a 'thud' and looked up at the ceiling. She recalled with perfect clarity the last time she had seen Malfoy. It was two years ago, but it really seemed like two lifetimes ago. It was just before the War. It was a time when the wizarding world was still pretending that it could go on forever as it was, regardless of the amount of tension in the air. There had been that party and Draco and Pansy. She laughed to think of her jealousy, of her humiliation, of her stark realization that their relationship was a sham and a lie, and she was little more than a plaything for him. She had thought him a fool, a weakling, too entrapped by his own selfish desires and greed for power and money and privilege to understand what real love was all about. She remembered the feeling of his cold, Slytherin like sword piercing her heart, until her body and soul went cold and lifeless.

Why had he turned? When had he turned? She knew Pansy died in the Battle of Hogsmeade, but didn't dare speculate the impact that might have had on him. War was hell. Life was hell. Both sides had lost many, many loved ones. After awhile, she had become so numb and cold and detached that she questioned whether she was still alive or not. And then he had walked in the door at 12 Grimmauld Place, when she saw his face, his platinum blond hair, his magnificent steel grey eyes, she felt something that she had not felt in over two years, she felt her heart stretch its arms and breathe.

Two and a half hours later, Ginny was leaning against that same wall, resting her legs which had become cramped while she sat on the floor pondering. The silence was broken by the kitchen door flying open as members began streaming out of the room. She stood flush against the wall as the front door opened, watching members scatter back to their lives outside. There was the usual hum of banter and discussion. She was straining to see past the crowd of people, looking for that uniquely platinum blond hair, when she caught a glimpse of him walking toward the door, Dumbledore on his heels. She, like many others in the room, was staring at him, following his every movement, still disbelieving the reality of his presence at the heart of the Order.

Then he passed her again, but she had seen him and been so close to him she could have reached out and felt his breath on her fingertips. She closed her eyes. This was enough. It was more than enough. Suddenly she felt a quick arm around her waist and one on the back of her shoulders pulling her into a swift embrace. She opened her eyes in alarm and was met with two fiery, piercing steel grey cannons searing a path to her soul. Before she could think or react or even look away, his lips claimed hers in a fierce stranglehold. This wasn't the gentle, tender, passionate kisses they had shared as teenagers. This wasn't even a close cousin. His kiss pulsed with the desperation, the need, the passion of a dying man. He was rough and demanding, bruising her lips as he forced her them open. Her body was flush against his, and she felt his hands crushing her waist and her shoulders as he held her in a vise-like grip against him. Then, just as suddenly, he thrust her against the wall and was gone. Ginny gasped for air, put a surprised hand to her lips, and saw the eyes of the Order on her.

As Darkness Fell All Around

The Battle of Hogwarts lasted three days. Ginny spent those three days locked in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey, helping to care for the wounded, the sick, and the dying. Her family had prohibited her from participating in the battlefield in any capacity, even to carry the wounded to treatment. She spoke with her patients and gleaned what information she was able to, but it could hardly be called enough.

The fallen were taken elsewhere, to a makeshift morgue in the dungeons. Ginny did not see Percy or Charlie when they were brought in from the field. She would learn of their stories later.

At the end of the third day, the shutters on all the castle windows flew open. Shouting was heard below. Harry had killed Voldemort. The wizarding world was liberated. Ginny flew from the hospital ward into the endless corridors and down the shifting staircases onto the battlefield.

She gasped at what she saw. The grounds were littered with fallen bodies, decked in full regalia, crimson for the Order, black for Voldemort's Death Eaters. It was as though the ground was a river of black and red for as far as the eye could see. There was moaning, screaming, and muffled cries for help amid the chaos. Ginny saw a slow march of witches and wizards stepping out from hiding and onto the field to look for loved ones, to help tend to the sick, to carry the corpses away.

Ginny ran as fast as she could, scanning the field for some sign of him, that pale skin, that platinum blond hair, that regal bearing. She turned over corpses, ripped away Death Eater masks. She was frantic. Ignoring cries for help and the agonizing smell of death, she went further and further into the blood and the darkness that was the battlefield.

Several hours later, her heart was pounding from fear and from the exertion of the search. Sweat was pouring from her brow as she went from body to body. Death and the dying were everywhere. She was almost hysterical with the dread of the unknown. The sun was on its last legs. The cover of darkness was beginning to envelop the world. Her hope was a mere flickering ember.

Then she saw something. She saw a solitary figure, sitting forward, head bent. The mix of sunset and moonlight turned his hair a fiery silver blond and his body into shadows. She recognized the bearing, that tilt to his head, the fallen locks against his forehead.

Ginny ran to him, falling to her knees with exhaustion and exaltation beside him. He made no movement, no acknowledgment of her presence. She stilled her breathing and placed a steady hand upon his shoulder. He looked over at her with glassy, vacant eyes. Then he threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. She felt the steady, comforting beat of his heart as she closed her eyes and let her head rest against his shoulder, the panic and hysteria slipping away. Sometime later she would recognize the severity of his injuries, the bleeding, the bruising, the broken right leg and shattered kneecap. There would be time for the hospital wing and treatment, but for now he held her close as darkness fell all around.

The End

Author's Notes: This was my first fan fic. Thanks for reading. - fallenwitch