AN: I had the first chapter and about half of this one done before I realized I'd killed Harry. So I changed Ginny's ex to Oliver. Oops. Sorry about that, by the way. I know people love Harry, but he had to go. Actually, he didn't. I just wanted him to. -evil cackle-
---Chapter Two---
Vistits to St. Mungo's
Draco grabbed a wine glass and threw it in the fireplace. The sound of the smash was satisfying, so he grabbed another and did it again. She was in the damn hospital! How could he go to see her without anyone knowing? He needed to know what was wrong! He dropped to his knees, head in his hands.
'It's been nine bloody years! How did my feelings never dim? How did she get passed this ache that's lodged permanently in my chest? Didn't she feel it too? Nine years, and my feelings never dulled or went away. This type of love is a curse, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody!'
He let a soft, but heart-wracking sob escape his lips. He needed to see her. But what would be his excuse?
**
Oliver Wood sat with his fiancés - ex-fiancé's - family in the waiting room of St. Mungo's. The hard plastic chair was digging into his back. Charlie's wife had just arrived with their two daughters, and they were running around laughing and giggling. He felt the headache coming on. It had been twenty five minutes already and Pansy Parkinson, who had somehow ended up as a doctor, had yet to leave Ginny's hospital room. Oliver sighed. He had seen it with his own eyes, her shock as the bludger had hit, the blood, her scream. That scream seemed to be etched into his soul. It was all his fault. If he hadn't asked her to come speak to him, she never would have been there. There were so many things he could have done…but he'd been down this road before. Not again.
He felt a warm arm wrap around his shoulders, and turned his head to smile at Angelina Johnson-Weasley. It was a smile filled with worry and sadness. He didn't even know why Ginny had left him. If she died he'd never know. If she died now…he couldn't even bare to think of it. Angie put her head on his shoulder and placed her hand in his. She'd always been his best friend. Oliver sighed.
The door slammed open. "Where is she!" Ronald Weasley yelled. Molly rushed up to him. "She's getting her check-up, sweetie. And don't shout," she said gently. He slumped into the nearest vacant chair. "What happened?" he whispered. "Bludger." Charlie replied stiffly. Ron had been in Canada on a business trip when he had heard. "Is she OK?" Ron asked to a silent room. "She's in a coma, Ron. We don't know," answered his mother. Then the room was silent again.
**
Inside of Ron's head, there was a battle. After his seventh year, Ginny and him had never really gotten along. Then he had lost his best friend, and had withdrawn even more. Even now, when he thought of that slime Malfoy holding his sister, so intimately, his blood boiled. He knew they had broken up partly because of him. And while he may be the one who fought the most with his sister, he knew her the best. And he knew that that year, and since, a part of her had been broken. Ronald Weasley refused to believe that the cause of her secret misery was a damned Malfoy. He refused to believe that she had actually loved him. No Malfoy was capable of love, and no Weasley was capable of loving a Malfoy. And even if she had, he must have been using her. Right? But inside, he still fought with himself. Didn't someone, even if he is a Malfoy, deserve to know when someone they cared about was hurt? 'It's been ten years since they were together, he doesn't care about her anymore, if he ever did.' His mind argued. But his heart didn't listen. After another five minutes, they were allowed to go to see Ginny. When he saw her lying on that hospital bed, pale as death, he decided that if Malfoy came, he would let him see her. If he came.
**
Pansy Parkinson walked to her office quickly. She grabbed some Floo Call powder and threw it into the blazing fire.
"Draco Malfoy's Office."
She saw his secretary Annie's head first.
"Annie, put me through to Draco, please."
"Just a moment, Ms. Parkinson."
She waited a few moments. Then Annie's head was back.
"Mr. Malfoy is not taking calls at the moment, Ms. Parkinson. May I take a message?"
"No! I need to speak to Draco now!" she shrieked.
Annie's shocked face disappeared and was replaced by an irritated, tired Malfoy one.
"What the bloody hell do you want Parkinson!" he yelled angrily. "And if you can refrain from screaming at my employee's, it would be very much appreciated!"
She had the courtesy to look a bit sheepish. "I have some news for you Draco."
"What, you bloody harpy?"
"Ginny Weasley is at St. Mungo's. She's in a coma, Draco."
"I know." He told her calmly.
"You know?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes, I know," he said again. "When my star player decides he's going to quit the team, I make it my business to know why. Apparently, Ms. Weasley's injury is the answer to that question. I do wish he'd get over it already. He's missed two practices."
Pansy couldn't believe her ears. "Draco, did you hear me? Ginny Weasley, the woman you've been madly in love with since school! And all you can say is that you wish her boyfriend would hurry back to work?"
"Look, Pansy, I don't have time for this. Ginny and I have been over for about a decade now. I'm very sorry you didn't get the memo."
"She's in critical condition, Draco! She might not make it! We don't know how long she'll stay stable! I can get you to see her. Come over around ten. After visiting hours; her family has been hanging around," she told him, comprehending why he seemed so emotionless. He didn't know what to do.
"Pansy…please-"
"Sorry, love, got to go! See you at ten!" she turned off the floo, before he could say a word.
**
Draco nervously apparated to St. Mungo's. Pansy met him at the apparation point.
"She's more stable now, so we made the family leave. You won't have any interruptions."
He looked at her intently. "Thank you, Pansy."
"Don't mention it."
She stopped at a door and unlocked it with her wand. "All yours, Draco."
He stepped inside and drew in a deep breath. There she was, lying there, beautiful as ever. He hadn't seen her in anything but magazines and newspapers in years. He sat in the chair by her side. He picked up her hand and whispered in her ear, "Hey, Gin." He paused. They were alone. She was unconscious. (AN: Mind out of gutter! Yes, you!) He could say whatever he wanted, and she'd never know.
"Why did you leave, Gin?" Now that he finally had the opportunity, he didn't know what to say. So he just went with it. "I've been dead for a while, Ginny. I think you killed me. You left when I needed you, you didn't trust me. I should hate you. But I don't." He laughed harshly. "Here I am. I'm still right by your side. I told you that if you left you'd loose me. I wish you'd lost me. I wish I could forget about you and move on. But I can't. It's been years, and I still love you as much as I did then. And when you smiled at me that day in the café, I thought I could let you go. I thought I could go on without you. But I was wrong. You know that saying, if you love someone, let them go, and if they come back it's true love, and if they don't they were never yours? I guess I tested that out. But you and Wood were splashed all over the newspapers two years ago. You were going to marry him. Why didn't you? Were you ever mine, Ginny? Was it only a fling for you?" A tear slipped down his cheek. He touched it and looked at with amazement. When was the last time he had cried? "Well, I guess crying when the woman you love might die is OK. I'm crying for you. See, Gin? I've never cried for anyone before. And you don't feel the same. I wanted you to come to me, to love me, and you never came. So I guess you were never mine."
That was the last thing he said to her for the next two hours. He sat, holding her hand, or playing with her hair. He wasn't even thinking. He just looked at her, feeling the hopelessness consume him. When he looked at his watch and saw that it was twenty minutes passed midnight, he brushed his lips to hers, got up and left.
Pansy had gone already. So he just went home.
AN: So, what did you think? I'm still not completely sure what is going to happen, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to send them in. Also, I apologize if Draco's thoughts in the end seem too jumbled, but they're supposed to be that way. He doesn't know what to think, poor thing. Thanks to all the reviewers. It's odd how they really do inspire to write faster. Hmm. Interesting.