Gravity

Note: In the case that any confusion arises, this was originally written under the pseudonym WhK at ff.net, and I am not posting it under this pen name at Portkey. Also, due to some slight confusion in posting this at other archives, no, Ginny does not get pushed off at the end.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling and all related parties.

Gravity

They are on top of the Astronomy Tower, and for a moment she wonders why. Perhaps because he likes it. He likes heights. He likes being apart from the muddy, sodden ground, flying high above where no one can quite reach him.

“Hungry?” he asks her. Ginny nods and shrugs at the same time. He throws over an apple and takes one himself. She bites it and winces at the sour, acidic taste that pours over her tongue. He eats his with relish, his jaw moving crisply.

“Draco,” she begins and her voice is already exasperated beyond reckoning. Too bad it has to start like this, but she thinks they need to talk. He interrupts her with a commanding hand.

“Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want to discuss anything right now.”

He never wants to.

She lets him bask in his much wanted silence and doesn’t let him see the tension in the way she stands behind him. She doesn’t like heights at all. She would much rather keep her feet firmly planted on safe ground.

He throws his browning apple core off of the tower, watching it hurtle relentlessly to its doom. Ginny blinks.

“Gravity,” she says suddenly.

“What?”

“Gravity,” she repeats, the corners of her lips lifting.

“Gravity,” he rolls the foreign word off his tongue. “What is?”

“Falling,” she answers vaguely, waving her thin, bony hand. “It’s inevitable, you know. Gravity pulls you down. Always.”

Draco stops moving and stares at her awhile, as if calculating the degree of her insanity. When he’s done, he shakes his head slowly.

“Right.”

She laughs, as he clearly does not understand.

“Something Hermione tried to teach me once.”

“You shouldn’t keep listening to that stupid girl.”

“I’ve got no one else to listen to.”

“What am I here for?”

Ginny casts her eyes downwards.

“You never even talk.”

“I’m talking now, aren’t I?” There is a note of anger in his voice, but the anger is misplaced. It’s not her fault he’s so distant at every bloody thing in the world. His anger is always misplaced, though, so she supposes it's alright.

“You’re opening your mouth, Draco,” Ginny says firmly. “That’s not talking.”

Draco fixes her a cold glare.

“You disgust me,” he says then. “You disgust me with your ridiculous philosophical ideas that you think you can apply to anything and everything, and ugh, how you think yourself such a philanthropist. Do you fancy yourself some kind of poet, Weasley? Think you’re out to find the hidden meaning behind everything?”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny scowls back.

“You know. It’s exactly in the way you’re always harping on about how I should change. How I should do this or that. How I should smile more. How I shouldn’t tease people when I don’t really mean it. Well, what if I do mean it? What if I wholeheartedly mean it when I say you are the most foolhardy person I’ve ever known? What if I mean it when I tell you that I am not a poor, mistreated, sentimental soul behind my so-called facade? What if I am just a miserable old bastard who has no intention of picking pretty flowers for you any time soon? And what if, through all of that, you still loved me? Now, wouldn’t that be the silliest of all things?” He forces out a laugh, a harsh, cutting laugh.

“I hate you,” she says woodenly. Then, with more conviction, her voice rises to a shrill scream.

“I hate you!” Tears prick her eyes and she is reminded again of how cruel he could be, but it only hurts as much because he never lies.

Draco laughs again, this time dark and soft, like silk. His long arms stretch out to tuck her inside his rigid embrace.

She looks up and watches his thin, soft lips moving.

“Of course you do, Ginny.” His hands stroke her back, like a playful wind. “That’s why you’ll never, ever leave me.” His is a quiet, coaxing, soothing, deceptive voice, tickling its way into her ears then into her mind, then snaking down her neck and into her chest where her heart beats furiously.

He kisses her, lips too soft and too warm, burning as they move across the tender skin of her lips. His hands have reached up from her back into her wind tangled hair, the tips of his fingers feeling cool against her scalding body.

She forgets all about hating him when he touches her like this.

Gravity, she thinks again, a mirthless chuckle moving against his mouth.

And then, she is falling.