Summary:She made her bed - but will she lie in it? Pansy Parkinson was worried. Draco hadn’t emerged from his room since the night she had tried to ‘bring him back to the real world’, as she had so tactfully labeled it in her mind. She had tried knocking on his door, but he completely ignored her. Often she heard strains of music emitting from the crack under the door. Always the same song. ‘Walk On’, by U2. Every morning, she saw the same barn owl fly to his room. It returned that evening, and probably several times during the day. It always, she noted, went back empty handed. After a few days, Pansy realised that she might not have been going about in the right way to break them up. Of course, something else must have happened; otherwise Draco would be out trying to win the Weasley girl back instead of skulking in her room. And Ginny Weasley’s pale, pinched face on the few occasions that her friends managed to drag her down for a meal confirmed the fact. Pansy was growing nervous. Countless occasions she brought food on a tray and left it outside his door, knocking and walking away, but always when she returned it was still there- untouched. She didn’t know what he was surviving on but it obviously wasn’t much. One day, Pansy realised she was going to have to swallow her pride. She walked very stiffly up to the Golden Trio during a Potions lesson, and asked rather haughtily where she would find ‘the Weasley girl’. After shocked looks, and a whispered argument she got her answer: Ginevra Weasley spent most of her time these days in the Astronomy Tower. It was cold, the night she ventured up there. Ginny was leaning on the sill, quill scribbling away on a piece of parchment, tears streaking down her face. Pansy stood awkwardly for a moment, then cleared her throat. Ginny jumped in surprise. When she saw who it was, her face fell. Pansy didn’t know who she had been expecting- no, that was a lie. Of course she had. “What do you want,” Ginny said wearily. “I- I want to apologize.” Ginny glared coldly at her. “I think it’s fair to say that we two share the blame in this affair.” Pansy plowed on, courageously risking the infamous Weasley temper. “I- I lied. That stuff I said, it wasn’t true. He hasn’t done anything like that all year, ‘part from you I suppose.” “I worked that one out,” Ginny snapped. “And I- I want to help.” “I think you’ve helped enough.” “You don’t understand, Weasley!” Pansy cried desperately. “He hasn’t come out of his room for three days. He won’t eat. He won’t go to lessons. He won’t even speak to me. I know what you two can do. I know about the Mind Talking thing. He told me… before… before….” “Before you stuffed things up,” Ginny supplemented grimly. Pansy had the decency to look ashamed. “Yeah. But what I want to know is have you tried- and if you haven’t, why bloody not?” Ginny sighed. “This is where you don’t understand, Parkinson. It’s an incredibly private thing. I often accidentally see thoughts, images, memories. I don’t want to intrude.” She looked down miserably. “I don’t have the right to anymore.” Pansy shook her head. “You’ve got to try!” “Listen Parkinson,” snapped Ginny. “I betrayed him. I wasn’t thinking straight. He deserves the right to be as furious as he wants with me. I’m- I’m going to keep on writing letters to him.” “He burns them,” Pansy said hotly. “Every morning, in the Common Room fireplace there are charred remains of envelopes, letters. You catch a word every now and again- ‘Draco, please listen to me, Ginny’. He burns them all.” Ginny felt a lump rise in her throat. “All of them?” she whispered in a timid voice. Pansy nodded tiredly. “It doesn’t look like he even opened them.” Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them. Determinedness lined every aspect of her face. “I can’t talk to him in his mind,” she said decidedly. “But I can and will go to his room. Take me now, Parkinson.” Pansy hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. *** Fifteen minutes later saw the unlikely pair standing in front of his door. “I don’t know the spell to open it,” Pansy told her. “No,” Ginny said grimly. “But I do. Celorium Abscond!” The door popped open, Pansy made a hasty retreat and a pale face turned to Ginny. Draco’s mind was reeling. His face registered shock and then loneliness and sorrow, with a final tight anger settling in his eyes. “Get out,” he hissed. “Get out.” Ginny with an effort kept back tears. A part of her said it would be unfair to cry; she had no right to. It was her fault. “Please listen to me,” she whispered. “You haven’t turned up to the meeting we were meant to have, you don’t ever come out. This is the only way I can talk to you. Please, listen to me,” she repeated. “Get out of my room, Weasley,” he snapped, turning away from her “Oh,” she said, half-laughing through the tears that had unwilling spilled over her cheeks. “I’m Weasley again now, is that so?” Draco turned back to her. “I’m so sorry, Ginevra,” he sneered, voice thick with sarcasm. “Of course, this must be all my fault, again. Please, take me back! I don’t care that you’re off snogging Potter at every opportunity! I don’t care that you obviously don’t know me enough because you actually believed what Parkinson said! I don’t give a damn to the idea that I’m just a plaything for the side! I was wrong- please, take me back!” He turned his back on her again contemptuously. “Don’t talk like that,” she whispered. “Get out of my room.” “I love you.” “No, you love bloody Scarhead. Get out of my room.” “You know that’s not true.” “How? How do I know?” he yelled, turning on her. “How am I supposed to stand a chance against the mighty Angel of Hogwarts, tell me that!” “I love you,” she repeated. “No you don’t. You don’t have a clue to what the thing is. It’s just something to say, for you.” “That’s not true,” she cried. “It’s not true!” “Then why,” he said slowly. “Why were you sitting on his lap?” “It was a mistake,” she sobbed. “He was just a friend to me!” “Yes, I’m sure his intentions were purely honorable- as were yours, no doubt!” “Draco, I swear I’m telling the truth.” “Get out.” She saw that the trip was worthless. “Will you still come to the practice tomorrow night?” “We’re not practicing with Potter and his minions till Tuesday.” “We organized one, Draco. You and me. From seven until nine.” “Of course. Joy, I get to spend two hours with a Weasel.” Hurt pricked at her heart. “I should leave.” “You should never have come.” “How else could I have told you what I feel?” she cried. “You burn all my letters.” He didn’t question how she knew. He didn’t seem to care, she realised. Not about anything. It scared her- she hadn’t seen such indifference in his eyes for a long time. He sat down heavily on the bed, ignoring her. She went to leave- and then turned at the door. “Do you miss me at all?” He faced her, and for the first time met her eyes. This time, he spoke more gently, and the quiet sadness in his voice was apparent. “Go away, Ginny.” She nodded, and slipped quietly out of the room, shutting the door as she left. Pansy looked up questioningly at her, and Ginny shook her head, gritting her teeth to keep back tears. *** Draco Malfoy appeared at breakfast that morning, somewhat colder and more distant but apart from that the same as he’d ever been. He didn’t glance in Ginny’s direction once. Pansy dared to ask why he had returned to school. His reply was bored and drawling; as it had once always been, before Ginny. “Like I give a crap about any girl.” Pansy raised an eyebrow but did not broach the subject again. Ginny, who had been watching him froze at the look of cold disdain he sent her way, and then turned crimson, tears threatening to escape her eyes. Draco leaned over and whispered something to Blaise who choked on his drink and banged the table, roaring with laughter. Ginny rose from the table with as much dignity as she had left. Hermione uttered her name, distressed for her friend, but Ginny shook her head and at a fast walk left the hall. Draco immediately received reproachful glares from both Hermione and Pansy, but he managed to ignore both, a sly smile on his face. Ginny upon leaving the hall ran up the stairs, searching for a safe nook or cranny to hide herself in. Deciding to skip lessons for the day, she created a comforting room in the Room of Requirement and lay face down on a couch, crying. “Can’t he see? Can’t he see?” she repeated the words under her breath, over and over again, trying to create some sort of monotony in which to bury her feelings. She looked up eventually, hours later, with red eyes and a tired expression. She hadn’t been sleeping very well. She went to the bookshelf and slid out a novel; a muggle story called ‘How I Live Now’. She read about ten pages, and then had to put it down, crying, because Edmund reminded her of Draco. She wondered how one stupid mistake could cause so much pain and hurt to two people. Ginny stared at the ceiling, eyes blank now, devoid of emotion. She felt as if her heart was splitting, slowly being cleaved in two. She knew that she had caused him as much hurt- if not more- and yet she couldn’t understand how he refused to even talk to her. She thought that if she had been in his place, she would have at least listened- got his story. Of course, Ginny often forgot things about Draco Malfoy; the main thing being his last name, and his house. His pride stopped him from listening to her; his fury at Potter was another factor. She rubbed her eyes, tired. She needed something to occupy her; anything would be welcome, just to get her mind off him. She looked desperately around the room, and her eyes lit upon a wooden case. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized it immediately. She stood up, and cautiously made her way across the room to it. As she touched it, wiping away a thin line of dust it clicked open, and she gazed upon the shiny wood of a cello. With reverent hands, she took the huge instrument out and took the bow lightly in her fingers as well. Hefting them over to a chair, perfect for her height she sat down and experimentally ran the bow over the strings, automatically playing a chord. It was perfectly in tune. Ginny’s fingers shook a little, and she recalled her vow, made so many years ago. *Flashback* Ginny’s eyes brimmed with tears as she hoisted her friend up into the attic. For the cello was her friend; so many years had she played it- ten now, and she was finally saying goodbye. She ran the reasons through her head again, searching for a way, any way, that she could continue playing it without feeling guilty. But it was no good. She could not play music and be part of a war; she must dedicate all of herself to the one or the other. Her heart broke to do it, but she knew that fighting against evil was more important than making a little music. *End Flashback* Now she wondered at her choice. Could not, she wondered, a little music bring light to the dark life she was living? And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to play just one little piece- would it? As if they had made the decision already, Ginny felt her fingers dance up and down the strings, the bow creating a mournful noise, telling all of her sadness and guilt about what she had done to Draco. Her cheeks were wet with tears, though she did not know she was crying. Her body curved around the cello, playing with it and the cello and her body were one together; one instrument, one song. Her heart and soul poured into the music. The piece quickened, and her music told of the strange feeling she found when she began to realise that Draco Malfoy wasn’t such a bad person all. It moved on, deep and beautiful as she told of the love that had grown between the two. Then, sweet and poignant she played of finding out the prophecy- of the heartbreaking knowledge that you had to give up the person you loved most to save them. Then the uplifting song of the getting back together came, and Ginny’s face smiled, though she was not aware of anything apart from the piece she played. She made the song up as she went along, telling her story to anyone who could hear; anyone who cared. Alternately she laughed and cried, and the song lifted some of the sorrow from her heart. When she played a long stanza about Neville, she wept so much that the old instrument rocked, and it created a moving song. Finally the song began to cease, and she played a low, bitter verse of her betrayal, and of the sorrow and guilt that wracked her now. With a final long note, the song ended, Ginny wiped the streaming tears away with the back of her hand, and looked up to meet with the sight of the face of Draco Malfoy. Her breath caught. He was not watching her; his eyes were closed and he looked almost peaceful. She laid down her bow and cello carefully, as not to disturb him and checked the time. It was ten past seven. The slight clatter of the instrument made his eyes flick open and he studied her carefully. “I didn’t know you could play that,” he said quietly. “I- I couldn’t,” she whispered. “I mean, I could but I gave it up… years ago.” “Why?” “I- I decided that I didn’t have time to concentrate on two things. When I joined the DA, I gave my all to the war.” “That was stupid,” his voice wasn’t at all harsh, it was level and she couldn’t tell the emotions behind it. “I suppose,” she said shakily. “Looking at it now…” she stroked the cello with a loving hand. “What were you playing?” “I… made it up as I went along.” His eyes registered a hint of surprise. “What’s it called?” “Can’t you guess, Draco?” She whispered, a hint of desperation in her voice. His eyes flickered with anger. “No,” he said flatly. “I haven’t got the faintest clue. But we should practice.” Her eyes darkened. “Yes.” And they did. They did nothing more, and Ginny spoke not a word to him when she could help it. They practiced the charms Dumbledore had taught them last, and it seemed to Ginny that his were stronger than usual; his Patronus stepped up to her and was about to nuzzle her, when she saw Draco go stiff and instead, the Thestral glared at her, before melting away. Draco’s eyes frightened her. It was hard to tell, because he refused to meet her eye but from the glances she got, they seemed hollow and empty. He was rude and cold to her, and it seemed he had retreated into the perfectly created Slytherin mask he had worn for so long. Her lip had a little blood after an hour or so, for she chewed it constantly. The second hour passed, and Draco turned to leave, not even bothering with a goodbye. He was about to step out the door when it slammed shut, missing him by half an inch. He turned angrily and met with the sight of Ginny Weasley, hair cascading down her shoulders, fiery eyes directed straight at him, her mouth lifted slightly in determination. “Open the door,” he said in a steady voice. “Quite a while ago,” Ginny answered, ignoring his command. “Upon your request, I let you have a ‘word’ with me. Now, it’s my turn.”
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