CHAPTER NINETEEN - Give
She didn't sleep.
Ginny knew it would be quite some time before she could close her eyes without seeing Lucius Malfoy, the hatred in his eyes, the murder reflected from hers. It would take time not to fear dreaming of his blood on her hands, or to walk in a nightmare where she did what she had truly wanted to do, putting her bloodstained fingers over his gore-slick face to cover his mouth and nose, to let the air leave him even as his blood left him.
She shivered and moved closer to Draco in the bed, feeling his arms tighten around her. He could sleep, she thought, and well he should. She knew little, but she knew him, and she knew the postures of a man with a purpose. He would leave her to go to the greater good, and that alone made her hate that greater good with a measure of selfishness she was dismayed but not surprised to find in herself.
How long had he been asleep? A few minutes? A few hours? She didn't know. She turned over to face him, marveling at his face in repose. How many times had she taken the time to watch him sleep? Not many, she knew, for he always outlasted her, staying awake long after her, sometimes stroking her back or her hair, sometimes, staying up to do work he'd carried home with him.
He looked too good to be hers, fair hair and flawless skin, the aristocratic, finely pointed face softened in sleep. His lashes lay pale and long on his cheeks and now it was she who wanted to take him away from all of this, because it was her fault he was here.
"I can feel you watching me, little weasel," he said softly, a smile curving his mouth, his eyes still closed. He hadn't forgotten where he was or what had transpired; instead, he willfully ignored it, choosing to let his world shrink only to her, at least for a bit longer.
"Sorry," Ginny whispered, and even she wasn't certain of the scope of her apology, how much or how little she was trying to make amends for with the one word.
He didn't let her explore it any further; keeping his eyes closed, he leaned forward and slid his lips over hers, catching her sigh between his lips and returning it with one of his own as he moved one hand to touch her, to stroke her hair away from her face. With his eyes closed, his hands traced their path using memory alone, using the perfect picture he kept in his mind. A ticklish spot at the back of her neck, her left shoulder on which there were more freckles than on her right. Down along her arm, where there was a scar from when three-year-old Ginny had fallen from a broom she'd pilfered from the twins, the hands that had set out to end his father's life, the same hands that had done everything from rubbing his cheek to resting over his heart to bringing him to completion time and time again.
He moved one hand back up to caress her face, gently urging her to part her lips for him. "Draco," she whispered, moving her mouth to his cheek so he could feel the words form. "What are you doing?"
"I'm loving you," he answered simply, covering her mouth with his and feeling the way she kissed him, kissing as he had taught her, moving in ways he had shaped her, just as every move he made had been tailored by her and to her.
What had there been between them of late? Stolen time in a public bookstore, harried pretense in a crowded club. Possession, ownership, but not this. He had craved those times with her, but he had starved for this, too scared to open himself up to her like this before, too afraid in his most vulnerable moments that she would see his sins, would intuit his secrets and endanger herself.
Now his fear had settled in union with the fear and action of others, split and shared among the Order, and she already knew his sins and his secrets. He wanted this. He wanted to give himself over to her and give her all the vulnerability he could not have later when his life and hers would depend on it.
He moved his hands to her hips, rolling so she was on top of him, finding a sweet, slow rhythm to their kisses, an unrushed pace despite their time constraints.
His eyes were still closed.
Ginny stretched herself out, pressing her thighs to his, feeling him solid and warm beneath her, here where she'd never dreamed he would be, and she responded tentatively, kissing his closed eyelids and moving her hands to his chest. As she felt his heart beat under her palms, her need reared up within her, desperate and hot and crazed and now.
They would survive this. They simply had to, because she could not live without this and him.
She pulled her nightgown over her head, pressing hungry lips to the pulse in his throat, disconcerted but not discouraged by his refusal to open his eyes. He lifted his hands to cover her breasts, and the heat of his touch comforted her and made her glad.
They stayed like that for long moments as she tested his body with her mouth and he tested hers with his hands, long fingers dancing down the line of her back, sure hands pressing into sensitive spots and clusters of freckles.
She unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open, needing to feel her skin against his, her heart against his as he tapped his fingers-index, middle, ring, pinky, thumb, both hands in concert as though he thought he could leave his fingerprints on her, unique and his, just as she was.
Ginny unbuttoned and unzipped his pants with slow, steady fingers, finding this part incidental to the way he was whispering her name and she his, merely co-occurring with the way his arms were banding around her as though he'd always protect her, as though he would hold her forever.
His physical need had been greater at other times, but he had never yearned so much for someone as he did in the moment before she settled herself atop him, wrapping her fingers between his, arms stretched out, wrists to wrists and heart to heart so their pulses slowed, alternated, then mated; lip to lip so their breaths drew together.
She moved slowly and he did not hasten her, in no rush to leave this bed and this woman. His chest grew hot with the pressure and friction of hers; his forehead beaded with sweat and shared in hers as she rose and rested her head to his. She kissed him, and in the silent room, blackness to him behind his closed eyelids, the only sign he had that she was nearing completion seconds, moments, hours later was the tremor in her lips, the tiniest moan across her tongue, and he raised his hips to fill her as best he could, wondering if it was enough.
She whispered his name as she endured the gentle crest and gasped when he reached his own release. Finally, she released his hands and buried them in his hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his chin, her grip growing insistent and painful as she felt their time ticking away.
"You have to go now," she said, her certainty robbing her of the privilege to make it a question, stealing from her the ability to pretend and be blissfully ignorant.
"Yes," he answered, though he knew she had not asked. He rolled once more, laying her on her side on the bed as he kissed her cheek. When he finally opened his eyes, tears were standing in them.
It was the only time he had ever cried in front of her, and he did not want her to know.
~~~
She lay awake, perfectly still as she let the sweat soak into her skin, his essence mingle with hers, not wanting to move and waste the aftershocks of what they'd had.
She also did not want to know where he was going or what he was doing. Not just yet. She needed a few moments to absorb it, a few moments to truly think about what had transpired, about what he had done and said, about the things he'd given to her without her knowledge.
His loyalty, for one.
She had threatened him, had hexed him, and he'd been fighting with her instead of against her the whole time, in his careful, plotting way. And now he sat downstairs where she should have been, giving those plots over to her parents, her brothers, her teachers. Her heart swelled and she turned her head into her pillow to stifle the sobs that poured out of her, angry and confused and grieving, regretful and frightened and loving.
He had given so much.
The least she could do was what she had promised she would do.
~~~
"They'll have to be told." Arthur leaned across the table. "There are too many of them to risk not
telling everyone what we are doing. Even the farthest outlying posts must be notified."
They were all tired, and every one of them looked tired except for the two central players in the latest-and perhaps last-great scheme of the Order of the Phoenix.
Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape did not and could not look tired. Too many things depended on them.
"I'll go," Hermione said. "Molly, if you'll watch the baby."
Molly considered, then shook her head. "I ought to-"
"Watch the baby, Molly," Arthur said sternly. He'd taken the proverbial backseat for the majority of his marriage, but if there was an opportunity for his wife to be safe, he would force her to take it.
He could be strong about many things, but Arthur Weasley knew he couldn't live his life without his Molly.
"I'll go," Harry said, his brow furrowed in thought. "As long as Molly's watching Harmony, there's no reason why I oughtn't take my broom-"
"No reason," Snape said snidely, "Other than this is, technically, your fight. If you're gallivanting about on a broomstick when the final battle comes, I'm afraid that will be chalked up as forfeiture and we'll all be destroyed. Poor judgment, Potter."
Draco found a smirk despite the circumstances.
"You mustn't go," Hermione seconded quietly. "Though I doubt we'll be gone so long as to keep from helping in the end." She threaded her fingers through Harry's unsmilingly, any animosity they'd had over his role in the war and hers gone in their need.
"It's easy enough," Luna said, speaking up quietly. "I'd rather like to see Ron before…" She trailed off, her uncharacteristic honesty failing her for once.
"The three of us can go."
Ginny's voice had them all turning around, and she nodded toward Luna and Hermione. "We three can split the outliers and locals. We'll tell everyone."
"You don't even know what you're telling them," Draco said, foolishly-selfishly-wishing she would stay behind. Even if it meant she were still feeling badly over things, still feeling weak, he wanted her to stay behind. But she shook her head.
"I suppose, then, you will just have to tell me."