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Draco sometimes thinks that Ginny is like a sunrise. Or a galaxy. Or the Aurora Borealis. Really, he can't decide. She is fast, flitting around in a swirl of color and light. He catches himself watching her, now and again. The way she talks to her brothers, teasing and playful, but always with an undercurrent of love. He sees the joy she feels when surrounded with her family and friends. And with him. She is all passion and sweetness, sharp and bright, dancing around him, as a constellation of stars. He basks in the warmth she projects, and aches when she is not near. Yes, He muses, perhaps a sunrise is what she is. Bringing with her every good feeling he has ever had.
He thinks back to the time before her, and it appears as a starless sky. Dark. Empty. Desolate, and lonely. It made him hard, numb to everything, and cold. Like the blade of a knife, he cut anything that came near, believing it was his only hope of surviving. And then, the sun rose. Her smile melted the darkness away. Her amber eyes, so open and honest, reflected all her goodness, taught him how to feel once more. He learned to drown his loneliness in her vivid hair, watching it flow through his hands and onto his sheets. Damn that Griffyndor red, he thought, even as he surrounded himself in it.
He is not wholly changed, though. It is impossible to completely throw off the dark shroud that was before. He knows he cannot be entirely trusted with her, and she knows it as well. But somehow she seems even more drawn to him for that. Perhaps she yearns to dispel it with her light, but he thinks that it is rather more the attraction of a moth-to-the-flame, save that the flame gives off dark instead of light. Whatever the reason, he is unceasingly grateful for her.
And now, as they make love, it really is like watching the sun come up. The sky grows brighter and brighter, until the full glory of it bursts from the horizon. and when he wakes to find her watching him, smiling, he cannot help but feel that it is going to be a lovely day.
He thinks back to the time before her, and it appears as a starless sky. Dark. Empty. Desolate, and lonely. It made him hard, numb to everything, and cold. Like the blade of a knife, he cut anything that came near, believing it was his only hope of surviving. And then, the sun rose. Her smile melted the darkness away. Her amber eyes, so open and honest, reflected all her goodness, taught him how to feel once more. He learned to drown his loneliness in her vivid hair, watching it flow through his hands and onto his sheets. Damn that Griffyndor red, he thought, even as he surrounded himself in it.
He is not wholly changed, though. It is impossible to completely throw off the dark shroud that was before. He knows he cannot be entirely trusted with her, and she knows it as well. But somehow she seems even more drawn to him for that. Perhaps she yearns to dispel it with her light, but he thinks that it is rather more the attraction of a moth-to-the-flame, save that the flame gives off dark instead of light. Whatever the reason, he is unceasingly grateful for her.
And now, as they make love, it really is like watching the sun come up. The sky grows brighter and brighter, until the full glory of it bursts from the horizon. and when he wakes to find her watching him, smiling, he cannot help but feel that it is going to be a lovely day.
The End.
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