When a determined ray of sunshine finally teased her into waking, Ginny tried to convince herself she was ready to face the day. It couldn't be any worse than the night she'd just endured, full of guilt over Harry and guilt over her relief that he knew, no matter how much it had hurt him. No matter how awful and alien his face had looked as he left. At least he knew, and that alone meant today would be better.
Her resolve lasted through her shower, as she tried to scrub away her worry and send it spiraling down the drain, and she stayed steady through a hurried cup of coffee. Why she was rushing, she didn't know - there was no job awaiting her, and certainly no friends expecting her somewhere. The automatic twinge she felt when Hermione flitted into her thoughts was shoved aside after a moment, and she mentally straightened her shoulders. It would be better, this day. The worst was over.
She believed that until her mother's face appeared in the fireplace. Even the green flicker of flame couldn't hide the angry flush staining Molly Weasley's cheeks, and the determined set of her jaw alerted Ginny instantly. She knew.
"Damn," Ginny muttered, darting a quick look as she peeked out of the kitchen. The glower hadn't increased in intensity; Molly hadn't heard. It was the tiniest of reprieves, but she knew she'd be grateful later. She glanced down at her clothes - a faded, favorite jumper and old, comfortable jeans - and pushed her hair behind her ears. If only she had some battle armor handy.
She walked into the room, wondering who could have been so indiscreet, so fast, and Molly's eyes narrowed at the sight of her daughter.
"I've just been talking to Ron," came the opening volley, brimming with indignance, and Ginny had her answer. No enormous surprise there - once a bigmouth, always a bigmouth. She wondered briefly if she knew anyone who felt any sort of real loyalty to her, and when a name streaked across her mind in response, she smiled.
Molly did not. The sight of Ginny's lips curving upward launched a rapid-fire, high-pitched monologue that Ginny only caught bits and pieces of.
" … broken Harry's heart … Ron found him at Hermione's … almost in tears … don't understand you … practically part of the family … hurt him so …"
Ginny seized her opportunity when Molly paused to take a huffy breath, but her soft "Mum" went unheard. She shook her head and reminded herself that she was used to having to make herself heard, that growing up Weasley had prepared her for such situations. But when she snapped her fingers and Molly's head jerked up at the unfamiliar, imperious gesture, she realized that someone else had also taught her how to demand others' attention.
"Mum, listen to me," she said, willing some forcefulness into the words. "Whatever you've heard, it isn't the whole story. Ron doesn't know the whole story, even if Harry told him everything. Not even Harry knows …" she trailed off. A fragmented thought nudged at her - something Molly had said, in the midst of the ranting and raving, was important - but she couldn't force the halves together.
"You don't know," she told her mother firmly, watching as Molly's brow furrowed. Ginny could almost hear her thoughts. Don't know? Of course I know. You're my daughter, Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I know everything about you. She saw the words forming on her mother's lips and sighed, beginning to craft a defense to the expected barrage. When Molly spoke, her words were soft and sad, and Ginny's walls fell.
"If I don't know, Ginny, then tell me. Help me understand."
"I will, Mum," Ginny replied. "Once I understand, and once I know the whole story." She saw Molly's hesitancy, knew she wanted to ask when, and gave the answer she hoped was true. "Soon."
***
Normally the excited squeaking of house elves would send Draco scrambling for a headache potion and fleeing to his office - anywhere where he couldn't hear them, didn't have to answer questions about what Master wanted. Now he barely noticed the more irritating aspects of their presence, so intent was he on monitoring their progress. He might have found time to smile, had he seen Ginny mimicking the snap she'd seen him use so often, but he was entirely focused on making sure everything was perfect.
Making sure everything was ready for her.
Things would be the same, as much as it was possible - the vanilla candles were already scattered around the room, and the scent was so achingly familiar that he had to remind himself she wasn't there. Yet. Their favorite wine was waiting on the counter. He hadn't had a drop of it since the last bottle they'd shared, and he was looking forward to the taste. The little things would be as she remembered them.
But he was determined that the important things would be different. The ending would be right - no. There would be no ending. And now the only thing lacking in his glittering, polished domain wasn't a thing at all. He needed her, and it was time to be done with waiting.
He strode to the desk and opened the drawer, removing a quill and a card and quickly penning a short note in bold, black strokes. He would send no more messages after this. There would be no need. She would come.
***
Half-expecting another message, Ginny found herself staring out the window after Molly had gone. She'd disconnected the Floo - no telling who might want to berate or console her, and her own thoughts were troubling enough without adding the weight of others' opinions. After an hour, she decided it was silly to frown at the sky just because there were no owls winging their way to her sill.
All the clouds looked like sleeping dragons, and she had the ridiculous urge to throw something, prod them into action. But then she remembered that Draco had waited for two years. Whatever "soon" was to him, it would have to be soon enough. He had waited, and so could she.
This time, her resolve needed only to last as long as it took her to rise from her place at the window. Her attention was momentarily diverted; her back ever so briefly turned. Tap tap tap. Ginny wondered if the owl had waited for a sign of her patience, and as she drew up the sash, she whispered a message of her own that was lost in a flurry of wings.
"I would have waited."
Though she was glad there was no need to. Eager fingers untied the message, and a sharp fingernail had slit the envelope open before the owl had a chance to hoot softly in acknowledgment.
We've waited long enough. Seven o'clock.
Ginny smiled - it seemed he still knew what she was thinking. Only hours now to wait. She closed her eyes and let the anticipation sweep over her, and then her eyes flew open. Only hours? She had to get ready. At least the question of what to wear was easily decided.
She hurried into the bedroom, hair streaming out behind her as she grabbed the green dress from the closet and made for the bathroom. She disrobed quickly, tossing her jeans and jumper aside. When she slipped the dress over her head, she knew it was a perfect fit before she checked her reflection. No surprise, considering how intimately Draco had known her body. When she smoothed the material over her hips, she could imagine his hands roving over her curves, the dark silver of his eyes that signaled his want. Merlin, he still wanted her …
She was ready far too early, despite the distraction of her anticipation, and had to resort to pacing back and forth in her bare feet. The feel of the cool, hard floor under her toes was a necessity, keeping her grounded, lest she float away on the force of her desire. It was some special brand of madness, how easy it was for her to be consumed by him. There was nothing like this feeling, not in this world or in any other, and as she trod invisible paths in the floorboards, Ginny wondered how she had managed to do without him for so long.
That thought was easily pushed away, and a real smile broke over her face. It doesn't matter now, Ginny told herself. Whatever we've done, however we've wronged each other, there is still a chance.
And then it was time.
***
Everything was perfect. All the preparations stood up under the critical eye he turned on them, and at ten `til seven, Draco found himself adding the final touches. He'd never lit a match before, had never sparked a flame without magic, but he'd watched Ginny enough times to know how it was done, and he carried his tiny torch through the living room, lighting her candles. A hint of vanilla began to fill the air, and he inhaled deeply, trying to take in as much as he could.
He blew out the flame before it could lick at his fingers and vanished the match. He was concentrating too hard on watching the seconds tick by on the clock, and when Ginny quietly Apparated into the living room, he did not hear the faint pop that accompanied her.
When he turned around, she was there, and for a second, he thought he might have conjured her, that she was only the loveliest of memories. He'd had enough practice imagining her nearby - it was impossibly easy to believe her an apparition instead of flesh and blood. When he took a step toward her and stretched out his hand, he truly expected his fingers to pass through air.
But Ginny did not waver and disappear. She met his reaching fingers with her own, and
a shiver of heat raced through him at her touch. He had been mad to stay away from her, no matter what had happened. For two years, he'd burned for her, and now she was here, and he was touching her. It was too much, and it would never be enough. Her fingers were hot on his skin, and his breath had never sounded so loud as it did in the deafening silence between them.
He was fully awake for the first time since she'd left.
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