AN: To be honest, I’m not really sure where this came from. It started with a single line running around in my mind; a line I thought was going to create an angry story. However, once I began writing, the story took on a life of its own. It no longer wanted to be angry. And so, this story was formed. I blame it on reading Tam Lin, a novel where half the characters have a habit of lapsing into Elizabethan English. I’m not sure Draco is really in character, but I’ll defend it as saying it’s his aristocratic side showing through. No more of me, on with the show…er…story.
Disclaimer : I own not the sweet characters depicted here, but I do in fact own the poetry they quote.
The moon was still throwing its pale, iridescent beams on the two sleeping lovers coiled elegantly between soft black sheets. One, with the wispish hair, color fit to challenge the moonlight, was asleep still. The normally hard edges of his face softened by the appearance of innocents he had long ago lost.
The second of the pair, had just recently reopened her full, chocolate eyes. Her fiery hair was curled and tangled, lying smeared across her lover’s skin. She gazed at him longingly, as if missing him despite their close proximity.
He had never been a heavy sleeper, so it was the fluttering of her gentle eyelashes against his chest that easily alerted him to her newly awakened state.
“What’s the matter, Love?” he whispered, his breath unsettling some of her locks, but other then that he paid them no mind.
He expected her to not respond, as she was often won’t to do. Or at the very most, sigh beautifully and tell him it was nothing. He was not, however, prepared for the next words that fell from her alluring lips.
“We don’t talk anymore,” she answered, the longing of a lost soul creeping its way into her consuming eyes. She stayed perfectly still as she said this, barely drawing in enough breath to finish her sentence, let alone sustain life.
But stillness was never something he was comfortable with. As quickly as he could move, whilst still keeping her pressed to him, he sat up; if anything holding her tighter still.
“What on earth do you call this then?” He had tried to keep his voice soft, calm, and unaffected, and it would have come off that way too, if she hadn’t known him too well.
“No,” she sighed. She hadn’t yet pulled from his grasp, and it wasn’t likely she planned to do it at all. On the contrary, she pressed herself closer to him, as if she were trying to avoid looking into his fathomless cobalt eyes. “We just seem…” her voice trialed off into nothingness as she contemplated her next voiced thought seriously.
It was often that she fell into this trap; beginning conversations she didn’t really know how to continue. Her mouth would run away with her, not asking permission before voicing the thoughts that tried to lurk only in the furthest recesses of her mind.
He let the silence consume him, waiting for her to finish before questioning her further. After all, he was used to this, used to her acting strangely.
After what seemed like forever, she opened her mouth once more.
“Draco?” she questioned, sincere, and honest curiosity laced thickly through her voice. “Draco, do you still love me?”
He felt his blood go cold, despite the heat her small frame provided, and the sheet still wound around them. His breathing stopped; his very next breath locked within his throat.
How could she question such a thing? How could she, the one person who knew him best, question how he felt about her? Wasn’t it love that kept him holding her now? And wasn’t it love that he had whispered earlier, perhaps too quite for her to hear, but uttered just the same?
He had never truly been a romantic. It wasn’t in his nature, but he had tried, God knows he had tired for her. And for her, at this moment, he would try again.
“As sure as the moonlight o’re your face, As sure as thy beauty, thy kindness thy grace, As sure as the sun will rise on the ‘morrow, There’s no greater love that I would borrow”
She sighed, a delicate and sorrowful smile lightly dusting her face. Pulling back from him, she risked meeting his eyes, knowing already that they would entrance her.
“Don’t quote me pretty lies, for they injure my soul, don’t sing me pretty songs, for that ‘twasn’t my goal.” She let lose a single, desperate sounding, chortle that tore at his heart. “Draco,” she begged, “Please, just tell me something that’s real.”
He ran his hands, recently and regretfully vacated, through platinum hair with a sigh. Oh, but were they simple lies! He lamented.
No, every verse he had ever quoted to her had been said with absolute truth. He dare not lie to her, mostly because he didn’t think his heart could stand to break if she ever found him out. It hurt him to love her as much as he did, to pine for her when they were separated and long for more time when they were together. But, it appeared, she no longer favored the poetry he fancied so well.
“Alright,” he consented with an inept nodding of his head. “Alright, something real.” His eyes lighted upon hers; communicating to her, with them, as he knew his words would fail to do.
“What is real, Love,” he began his voice somber and tired, “is that you are an addiction. You are like a drug, and I, I am the ever eager, ever desperate, addict, falling apart while I wait to get my next fix.”
Ginny smiled more truly at this, but there was still a subtle sorrow in her eyes.
“So, you need me?” she whispered, already reaching out a hand towards him.
He caught the profited hand half way and dragged it towards his lips. With a feather soft kiss he was able to draw her close once again. But it would not do for her to think that he simply needed her, no matter how true it was, it was more than need that drew him to her like a mouth to a flame, or the parched to the stream.
“Somewhere along the way,” he began to whisper into her hair, “I love you, I miss you, and I need you, became so blurred that I can no longer discern one from the rest. But I assure you, as sure as I am breathing now, that I love you. That I have, and that I will. I know that even should I want too, which I dare say I shall not, I could not escape loving every piece of your being.” Ginny, satisfied, wound her way back into his arms, the sorrow and longing finally gone from her eyes.
“Good,” her words came, muffled by his chest. “Because, I’m beginning to think I couldn’t live without you. I love you.”
“And I you, Gin. And I you.”
AN: Not really my normal fare, but I’ve been trying new things. My next story is actually going to be an attempt at humor. Reviews are always welcomed, and met with love :-)