Brighter Dawn

Soft wind rustled through burnt and blackened paper, throwing it gently into the air. It swept around Draco's feet as though it was performing a serene waltz. He followed it with his eyes as it came to rest on a large slab of crumbling marble: a remnant of all that used to be his. Averting his eyes from the sight, he turned and looked across the once beautiful and fragrant grounds. His mother's gardens had once been a thing of undeniable grandeur. Now they had become a mire of death and destruction, as blackened and gnarled as the darkness that had taken a hold on his family. The scent of dust and decay seemed to coat Draco's tongue and stick in his throat, like a layer of rot that was slowly choking him.

It was his father's fault. Lucius' obsession with purity and power had destroyed everything the Malfoy name had ever stood for. His name was in ruins, along with his home. In the end, Lucius had perished with his master: stooping and subservient. The thought of it brought a sudden, white hot fury to Draco, and he spat on the grimy, broken stones of his family home. A harsh laugh was ripped from his throat; he wondered what his mother would have thought of his manners. His mother: his beautiful, elegant mother. She was more ruined than any of them. Tortured for Lucius and Draco's failures, she had died bloody and torn: a magnificent white rose ripped apart until nothing but thorns were left in Draco's memory.

Draco had turned his back on the Dark Lord when his mother's body had fallen callously at his feet. Swept up in a burning rage and fiery hatred, he had flown to the Order and offered everything he knew. He suspected they'd have hauled him directly to a cell if not for the gleaming, golden cup dangling from his numb fingertips. One last act of defiance: he had stolen it from his father the night before it was due to be put in the Lestrange's vault.

His eyes stung and his fists clenched into rocks; deep, shuddering breaths racked his body as he looked upon all that was left of his life. The disintegrating ruins were a physical manifestation of the corruption that seeped from the hideous mark disfiguring his arm, creeping through his veins and infecting his frantic heart. He was no hero, and in front of him was the proof. He had nothing left to live for. He knew what he had to do.

The wood under his fingers felt rougher than usual, more coarse and unrefined. He bleakly considered that it reflected his state of mind. Wands could probably do that sort of thing. Was that why the air felt crisp and solid, as though he could drink it in with every slow, measured breath? Was that why raising his arm was such a battle? Was this the last of the Malfoy magic working against him? His eyes were closed but the sunlight still trickled in under his lashes. A slight breeze whispered past his ears; the scent of distant honeysuckle crept into his awareness. A deep breath, then it would be finished.

His wand was pointed at the centre of the ruinous manor, straight at its heart.

"CONFRI-"

Several things happened at once. A heavy swish rent the air, a burst of golden flame erupted in front of him, and the spell died in his throat. Draco choked back his words and squinted into the sudden, intense brilliance. A cloud drifted across the sun's glaring face, and a figure took shape in its shadow. The dazzling flames resolved into mellifluous ruby hair framing a pale, freckled face. Glistening, worried eyes pierced into his mind. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he met them with his own. He should have known she would find him. She always did.

"Weasley," defeat laced Draco's words and shrouded his eyes, "what are you doing here?"

Ginny let the invisibility cloak fall completely to the floor, "I could ask you the same thing, Draco. What were you about to do?" Her voice was strained, laden with a mixture of exasperation, concern and fright.

"What does it look like?" was the defiant response. Ginny stared at him with a profound scrutiny. He could almost feel the tirade building inside of her. He braced himself for the onslaught.

"You were using the wrong spell."

Draco blinked. That was not what he had expected. He had expected fury to spill from her like a surge of molten ire. She should have been screaming about self-worth, selfishness, duty. Her face should have filled with crimson hate, spitting venomous words until he relented and broke. He certainly hadn't expected a correction on the methods of his own demise.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco could hear the incredulity in his own tone, a contrast to her placid observation. Her face was open, her emotions always on her sleeve. There was no anger, no pity, and no righteousness. Just a serene understanding, as if she held the answers in her hand. Maybe she did.

"You were using the wrong spell. Confringo isn't the spell you want. It's much simpler than that." Faced with Draco's blank, uncomprehending stare, she forged onwards, "You feel tainted, don't you?"

His eyes clouded as he scrambled for something cutting to say - something to remove the empathy from her voice. In the end, all he could say was, "Why did you come here?"

"You're not the only one with demons, Draco. We all pretend to be fine, that the world is a better place now. But in some ways it's worse. People can't come back. This war scarred some of us more deeply than even the keenest eye can perceive. But I see your scars." Draco's eyes drifted to his arm, where the skin was black and corrupt. Ginny was shaking her head, "Not that, Draco. The scars on your heart. The reason you left the celebrations. They're all so happy it's over… but we know, Draco. We understand one another. Good people died for us to live, and it hurts."

"What do I have left to live for, Weasley? Look at my life - it's ruined. I can't fix it."

"That's what I meant. You're using the wrong spell. Destroying this rubble won't get you anywhere, Draco. Neither will destroying yourself. Don't you want to give her death meaning?" Her voice was emphatic, impassioned.

He squinted at the sun, mulling Ginny's words in his head. His eyes still gazing upwards, he whispered, "I don't know how." His eyes were watering (from the sun he would tell her) as he turned to look at her. She had moved to his side and gently reached for her wand.

"I'll show you."

Ginny's wand raised and pointed at a large, shattered brick. Swish and flick, "Wingardium Leviosa.” The stone glided seamlessly through the air and came to rest on a clear patch of land. Glancing at Draco, she noted the confusion that lingered in his eyes and the sorrow in his stance. Swish and flick, "Wingardium Leviosa." Another stone flew through the air to lie next to the first. Draco watched in stoic bewilderment as Ginny sent rock after rock into the clearing. It was as though she was searching the rubble for something of value.

"There's nothing left in there to find. I've already looked. It's all gone," Draco said dully.

"You've been looking for the wrong things, then. Watch."

On and on she went: stones, rocks and bricks hurtled into the clearing until Draco finally realised what he was witnessing. Ginny Weasley was building a house. His eyes widened and he whirled to stare at her.

 Feeling his gaze, she spoke, "You see? Confringo was all wrong. You can't destroy scars, you have to turn them into something new and beautiful. Why don't you try?"

Draco's mouth was dry. He looked from the ruins to the skeleton of a cottage that was rising from the ashes of battle. The wood felt smooth under his fingertips, solid and stable. The air was shimmering with magic, his limbs felt light and agile. He scanned the debris until his eyes landed on a pristine chunk of marble. It was probably one of the steps from the grand staircase, torn asunder in the fighting.

Swish and flick.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Draco guided the marble to the gap Ginny had left for a front door. He laid it down at the entrance, a symbol of purity and beauty at his doorstep. He felt a tentative hand slip into his own. His fingers entwined with Ginny's of their own accord.

"A fitting tribute, I think."

"No..." Draco replied slowly, "I can think of something better." Setting off at a brisk pace, he headed southwards, towards the old manor gardens.

 She watched from a distance as the blond dropped roughly to his knees, dust splashing upwards into the fading light. He stayed there for a short while; Ginny thought she could see his fingers combing the fractured, lifeless soil. She turned back to the beginnings of the home they had built together, staring absently at the lifeless sockets that would one day be glowing with the warmth of a crackling fire. When Draco returned, he looked to be cradling a newborn phoenix, ready to leap from the ashes. He stepped into a crimson ray of the setting sun and she saw that he held a handful of dirt.

Methodically, Draco used his wand to gouge a line on either side of the pristine doorstep, sprinkled the precious soil into the divots and covered them over with magic. He grasped Ginny's hand, as if borrowing her strength.

"Effloresco."

A gasp flew from Ginny's lips as groups of proud Narcissus' burst from the dead earth. In the gathering dusk they were stark and austere. Then she smiled: a beaming smile that could outshine the stars.

"There. Now it is as perfect as she was."

They stood together as the world celebrated, basking in the dying light. Tomorrow there would be a new dawn, and maybe, if he was lucky, it would be even brighter and more dazzling than the incandescent hope that had filled his heart.