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Why Dost Thou Play, Pensieve?
Chapter One: Cold Goodbye
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet Prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
* * *
She sat silently, staring at the dimming embers as she tried to absorb the last of the heat emanating from the fireplace. A sigh escaped her lips as she enveloped her head with her hands, letting her flaming hair fall around her face. Her chin trembled, but she wouldn’t give in; not now, not after so much time had passed. Warm hands descended upon her shoulders and she straightened, startled out of her repressed reverie.
“Shh, Ginny, it’s only me,” he whispered in her ear.
She looked up into his emerald eyes. It had been amazing that he had survived. It had been amazing that anyone had survived and that the Dark Lord had been defeated.
She relaxed into his chaste embrace as he sat next to her. He was warm, so warm. Her eyes slowly closed in his presence and the last thing she remembered was a kiss placed softly on her forehead.
* * *
It was like watching an old pensieve memory over and over. She could watch, but she could do nothing. She didn’t want to, but she was compelled to do so as if this effort in vain could help.
Her hand covered her mouth even though she knew no one could hear her if she screamed. It was horror relived. The terror of the masks, not knowing who it was that could be the one to take your life and you, your last image being that of a cold, white face sunk to the bone.
She knew that feeling, the feeling of desperately wanting to help the ones you love fight their possible last battle. But that was impossible. You had your own battle to fight, your own life to save first because without yourself, you could help no one. But was that being loyal? Loyal to the ones you’d known for practically all your life?
That was what every wizard fought with himself over. And she knew that the decision to fight your own battle was right; not a back could be turned if you wanted to live, to have a chance. But that didn’t keep her from the guilt that loomed in her heart. There was a little grain of guilt in all of those who lived to tell their tale of gore.
But there was one who would never tell his tale. He had done what no other had. And she didn’t need a pensieve to remember it.
She had seen the look in his eyes when he did it, those same startlingly grey eyes which had held hers in a mesmerizing haze of time; the same eyes that had beheld her in all her glory as they had made love for the first time under the stars of the Hogwarts grounds. It had been dangerous, they both had known; he was a Death Eater at the impressionable age of seventeen and she a member desperately needed for the disintegrating Order. But neither had been able to deny their feelings.
She wasn’t expecting him to do it when he did. She didn’t even know it was him until he looked her way. But she heard a voice utter the spell that could end every wizard’s life from a distant point in her head; it didn’t register in her mind, but it had in Draco’s. He laid his life down for hers, the ultimate act of sacrifice.
She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she knew that it was grave. Her instinct kicked in just a moment too late to save him and stupefied the Unforgivable caster. It might have been star-crossed fate, or just coincidence, but the Dark Lord fell just moments later. And although she heard the field go silent before cheers filled the air, she could do nothing but stare at his body, the body that had protected her, saved her, loved her.
He was just paces away and she walked to him in a dreamlike stance and stopped. No emotion played across her features. But she felt cold, alone, and forsaken by the heavens. Her wand was suddenly too heavy for her fingers to grasp and it fell from her grip, making no sound as it hit the grass. She opened her mouth, but uttered not a sound.
Without warning, she dropped to her knees and slumped to the ground. She could feel the deep, wracking sobs in her chest that were threatening to escape with the tears that ran down her cheeks. And so they came. She threw herself over his body and grasped his robes. Filled with hate and despair, she ripped off the symbol of terror that he despised from his face and kissed him hard.
His lips were cold, as cold as her heart. She heard people scrambling behind her, finally noticing that something was amiss. She felt hands trying to pull her away from her first love, but she pushed and snarled at them, her vibrant hair in disarray around her shoulders.
In her mind, she could still feel their presence around them in a circle watching her as she sobbed over his stilled body. He was no more. He could never love her again. He was gone. And he didn’t even say goodbye.
* * *
He felt the tears wet his shirt as his wife sobbed in her sleep. He had thought that her wounds had healed. It had been so long, yet he could still see that hollow look of pain in her eyes as she stole away into her reveries when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he saw and he looked away yet again. She could never love him as she loved Draco.
A/N: First of all, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta twinsofthesky. She, along with many others, got the notion of D/G/H into my head because it was something different, something intriguing. So I thank all who influenced me for that; it got me writing for the fandom again and just writing period.
Secondly, the quote at the beginning of the chapter is a fairly well-known line from William Shakespeare's play Hamlet. Although I detested reading it at first, I soon came to love it. I've finally come to appreciate the genius that is Shakespeare.
Chapter One: Cold Goodbye
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet Prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
* * *
She sat silently, staring at the dimming embers as she tried to absorb the last of the heat emanating from the fireplace. A sigh escaped her lips as she enveloped her head with her hands, letting her flaming hair fall around her face. Her chin trembled, but she wouldn’t give in; not now, not after so much time had passed. Warm hands descended upon her shoulders and she straightened, startled out of her repressed reverie.
“Shh, Ginny, it’s only me,” he whispered in her ear.
She looked up into his emerald eyes. It had been amazing that he had survived. It had been amazing that anyone had survived and that the Dark Lord had been defeated.
She relaxed into his chaste embrace as he sat next to her. He was warm, so warm. Her eyes slowly closed in his presence and the last thing she remembered was a kiss placed softly on her forehead.
* * *
It was like watching an old pensieve memory over and over. She could watch, but she could do nothing. She didn’t want to, but she was compelled to do so as if this effort in vain could help.
Her hand covered her mouth even though she knew no one could hear her if she screamed. It was horror relived. The terror of the masks, not knowing who it was that could be the one to take your life and you, your last image being that of a cold, white face sunk to the bone.
She knew that feeling, the feeling of desperately wanting to help the ones you love fight their possible last battle. But that was impossible. You had your own battle to fight, your own life to save first because without yourself, you could help no one. But was that being loyal? Loyal to the ones you’d known for practically all your life?
That was what every wizard fought with himself over. And she knew that the decision to fight your own battle was right; not a back could be turned if you wanted to live, to have a chance. But that didn’t keep her from the guilt that loomed in her heart. There was a little grain of guilt in all of those who lived to tell their tale of gore.
But there was one who would never tell his tale. He had done what no other had. And she didn’t need a pensieve to remember it.
She had seen the look in his eyes when he did it, those same startlingly grey eyes which had held hers in a mesmerizing haze of time; the same eyes that had beheld her in all her glory as they had made love for the first time under the stars of the Hogwarts grounds. It had been dangerous, they both had known; he was a Death Eater at the impressionable age of seventeen and she a member desperately needed for the disintegrating Order. But neither had been able to deny their feelings.
She wasn’t expecting him to do it when he did. She didn’t even know it was him until he looked her way. But she heard a voice utter the spell that could end every wizard’s life from a distant point in her head; it didn’t register in her mind, but it had in Draco’s. He laid his life down for hers, the ultimate act of sacrifice.
She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she knew that it was grave. Her instinct kicked in just a moment too late to save him and stupefied the Unforgivable caster. It might have been star-crossed fate, or just coincidence, but the Dark Lord fell just moments later. And although she heard the field go silent before cheers filled the air, she could do nothing but stare at his body, the body that had protected her, saved her, loved her.
He was just paces away and she walked to him in a dreamlike stance and stopped. No emotion played across her features. But she felt cold, alone, and forsaken by the heavens. Her wand was suddenly too heavy for her fingers to grasp and it fell from her grip, making no sound as it hit the grass. She opened her mouth, but uttered not a sound.
Without warning, she dropped to her knees and slumped to the ground. She could feel the deep, wracking sobs in her chest that were threatening to escape with the tears that ran down her cheeks. And so they came. She threw herself over his body and grasped his robes. Filled with hate and despair, she ripped off the symbol of terror that he despised from his face and kissed him hard.
His lips were cold, as cold as her heart. She heard people scrambling behind her, finally noticing that something was amiss. She felt hands trying to pull her away from her first love, but she pushed and snarled at them, her vibrant hair in disarray around her shoulders.
In her mind, she could still feel their presence around them in a circle watching her as she sobbed over his stilled body. He was no more. He could never love her again. He was gone. And he didn’t even say goodbye.
* * *
He felt the tears wet his shirt as his wife sobbed in her sleep. He had thought that her wounds had healed. It had been so long, yet he could still see that hollow look of pain in her eyes as she stole away into her reveries when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he saw and he looked away yet again. She could never love him as she loved Draco.
A/N: First of all, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta twinsofthesky. She, along with many others, got the notion of D/G/H into my head because it was something different, something intriguing. So I thank all who influenced me for that; it got me writing for the fandom again and just writing period.
Secondly, the quote at the beginning of the chapter is a fairly well-known line from William Shakespeare's play Hamlet. Although I detested reading it at first, I soon came to love it. I've finally come to appreciate the genius that is Shakespeare.
The End.
amor_quies is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 5 members. Members who liked Why Dost Thou Play, Pensieve? also liked 239 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 5 members. Members who liked Why Dost Thou Play, Pensieve? also liked 239 other stories.
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