Ghosts and Mirrors



I could tell you that I regretted it. Regretted every moment I spent in his arms. I could tell you that I regretted it. That there was no nostalgia. I could tell you I was naïve, that he manipulated me. I could tell you I never wanted him. Never sought him out. I could tell you I regretted it, wished it never happened. That I never let him near me but that would be a lie.

*~*~*~*

I know that when, not if. Never if, but when. I know that when he returns, I won’t refuse him. Can’t refuse him. I know I will spend the night with him. No matter who I’m with or what I have planned, I will be with him. I’ll go to him. I know I’ll spend the night wrapped in his arms, whispered words of love and false devotion, drifting into the earless night. I know I’ll rejoice the feeling of him inside me again; in the way he makes me feel. I know I’ll lay my head on his chest, sated, sweaty and exhausted, his well defined, stained arm holding me tightly to him. I know the thoughts that will run through my head, how uncomfortable yet perfectly content I’ll feel his heated and sweat swathed body pressed to mine of the same description. I know I’ll savor those moments the most. Then I know I’ll push him away, dress quickly and leave. I know just as I reach the door, he’ll say one word, “Stay.”

I know I’ll turn and look at him, bare chest glistening with sweat, sheet barley covering him. I know I’ll say no and he’ll ask why. His face, for once, completely open. I’ll know he’s pleading, that he means everything he’s ever said.

“I’ll love you… I’ll make you happy…Keep you safe…give you anything you want…put a ring on your finger… I’ll love you…let everyone know that you’re mine and I’m yours…just say the words. Just say yes. Just stay when I ask.”

But I know I won’t say that. I know I’ll refuse. I know what I’ll say when he asks why. What I always say, “You know why.”

*~*~*~*

I know all this and I could tell you all that, doesn’t mean that when he comes, I wont tell myself I won’t. Doesn’t mean I won’t try to resist. Doesn’t mean I won’t tell myself that this time will be different.

*~*~*~*

I see him in the restaurant with her. I know he’s there before I see him. I feel him. His mere presence sends shock waves down my spine. He doesn’t see me. His attentions are elsewhere. On someone else. Not with me. His hand not on the small of my back. His lips not brushing the shell of my ear.

He’s on the cover of witch weekly every week, a new tart on his arm. This one is no different to all the rest. So why is it different?

I’m staring. I know I’m staring. I want him to see me. To know I know. I want him to see me watching him with his clearly magically enhanced tart.

The man sitting babbling across from finally notices I’m not paying attention to him, as I turn and watch them seated. He has the best table in the restaurant of course. “What the hell is he doing here?” my date exclaims, pushing back his chair. Before I can stop him, he stomps over to him, fists clenched, eyes flashing. “What the hell are you doing here Malfoy?” he nearly yells, the tendons in his neck jutting through his flesh. I can see the amusement in Draco’s eyes as he looks up at him from his chair.
“It’s Valentine’s day Potter,” he drawls. “I’m having dinner with my girlfriend, which I presume is what you’re meant to be doing with Weasley right now.” Harry’s face flushes as he turns and stomps back to me defeated. Draco catches my eye as he returns his attention to the woman in front of him, a slight incline of the head the only indication of recognition, but I know what he’s saying. That one gesture speaks volumes. He’s asking me to meet him. The usual time, the usual place. I look away defiantly to a softly ranting Harry. I’m not going to him.

*~*~*~*

Harry and I leave a few minutes later, apologies falling from his lips.
“I’m so sorry Ginny but I have to go to work. I know Malfoy’s up to something. I’m sorry.”
I can’t help the flutter my heart gives as my path to Draco is cleared. I sit in the apartment I have shared with Harry for the past year, still in the deep green halter dress I had worn to the restaurant. I apparate inside Malfoy Manor the wards are down for me. He knows that I will come.

*~*~*~*

I find him in the usual place, sitting, waiting. Two glasses of wine on a sliver platter before him. He smiles as I silently approach. With grace, he raises himself from the large chair, handing me a glass, offers me a seat and we talk. We always talk. About nothing and anything but never everything. Never everything.

I replace my empty glass to the platter, raise myself and take the few steps to him. He looks up at me. Doesn’t get up, doesn’t move a muscle. Simply watches me as I near. I know why he does it. So the first move is always mine. So I know that it was me not only him, who wanted me to stay. I always have to start.

I stop before him, cup his face and touch my lips softly to his. It is now he makes his move. He pulls me to his lap, hugging me tightly to him, deepening the kiss. And so it starts…

I whisper and am whispered, rejoice and feel, I am uncomfortable and perfectly content, I savor, push, dress, leave and stop before the door, hand poised to turn the knob.
“You know why,” I say turning and pulling at the door.
“No, I don’t,” he says harshly, throwing back the sheet, advancing. I stare at him dumbfounded. There is nothing usual to this. I stare at him unable to formulate words, mouth slightly agape and wonder why he’s broken step in out well rehearsed dance. “Because your family won’t like it? Because the world will frown? Because Scarhead will be hurt? If you don’t won’t to hurt him, if you love him so much, then why are you always here? With me.”
I can’t look him in his eyes as he speaks. They are so open, it’s unnerving. So much pleading, accusation, anger, pain and love. I look away. He pulls my face back, thrusts out his arm. “Or maybe because of this?” I stare at the ugly black mark that mars his perfect, pale skin. A lone tear trickles down my face.

“You wanted me to be a spy, I was. You wanted me to help with the rebuilding, I did. You wanted me a secret, I am. But I saw the look on your face when I walked into the restaurant with her. I saw the fire, the rage, the hurt, the jealousy. I saw you turn away from him to me, heedless of the consequences. I won’t do this anymore. Five years we’ve been hiding. It was for safety in the war but the war ended two years ago. I’m twenty-six years old. If you’re not willing to give everything; I’m not willing to give anything.” I stare in shock. I don’t want to talk about everything. Everything was painful. Everything brought questions. Too many of which should remain unanswered. Everything would eventuate to the unknown and to lectures with varying degrees of hurt, rage and why’s. I looked straight into his unflinching, stormy grey eyes. “You walk out that door; you can never walk back through them.”

Everything could bring happiness. Everything could mean no more facades. I looked at him with softened eyes. Everything meant love.
“Stay,” he whispers.

I close the door.
The End.
Serenitey is the author of 7 other stories.
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