Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: I realize that this is a very short chapter, but you'll just have to forgive me! Btw, if you recognize any of this (motifs, words, etc.), then you must have read my other D/G story You do not know I die…hehe Since people seem to like heart-wrenching kind of stories, I just thought I might pull it off again.
Oh, and please review!!! Even if you think it sucks! Flames are welcome too! Though some constructive criticism would be even more welcome! *hint*
P.S. If my quoting of famous authors bothers anyone, I apologize. I just thought that I needed something that would bring my point across.
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CHAPTER TWO
~ A triumph of grief ~
If it were possible to heal sorrow by weeping and to raise the dead with tears, gold were less prized than grief.
(Sophocles)
"Today is exactly three years since that night," Tonks said wistfully, passing her hand through her long hair the shade of magenta.
Alastor Moody, who was sitting at the table next to her, growled something incoherent in response. A shadow came over his face and his vivid blue magical eye was spinning in all directions.
He looked around the empty kitchen of the 12 Grimmauld Place. It had a deserted, dingy look and he struggled to recall the last time this place was filled with boisterous witches and wizards. Mrs. Weasley's apron on the hook by the large fireplace was the only evidence that people actually visited the kitchen.
"Poor little Ginny!" Tonks sniffed as the tears fell down her face. "We should look for her again. I know she's somewhere out there."
"We couldn't find her. She vanished without a trace," he croaked.
Tonks angrily pounded her fist on the wooden table. "But Moody! Molly and Arthur are so devastated! She must know that! What in the name of Merlin is she doing? This is…this is worse than what Percy had done all those years ago! How could she just leave without a word?!"
"She was just a child. I reckon, she didn't know how to cope with her loss."
"No, it's because of us," Tonks shook her head. "It's because we didn't believe her. You know, she thought he was still alive."
He sighed. "She'll come back when she's ready."
Another wave of sobs shook her body.
"And that wretched boy was my cousin," she blubbered. "Did you know?"
Alastor Moody was wringing his bowler hat unmercifully, trying not to break into sobs himself. His grizzled dark grey hair fell on his face, concealing his teary eyes.
"Yes, we were cousins," Tonks went on. "Of course we never associated with his lot. Mum had never even mentioned her sister's name, but still, it's awful what happened to him. He was so young. And dear Ginny loved him so much!"
"Yes, pour chap," Mad-Eye mumbled and his voice sounded hollow. His scarred face was contorted with emotion.
Tonks cried quietly for a good quarter of an hour, which was a real torture for Moody. Then her sobs finally subsided and she just sat there, staring at the cobwebby, dusty dresser. He wondered if that was a good moment to leave. He didn't know how to comfort Tonks and he felt very awkward.
"Well," he growled, getting up, "I've got to go. Have a thing or two to say to Kingsley Shacklebolt."
He paused hesitantly.
"You'll be all right, won't you?"
Tonks looked up, blinking her red-rimmed eyes, and nodded.
He looked down at his bowler hat that by now resembled a crumpled rug. He tapped it with his wand and restored it to its original shape. Sparing his last glance at Tonks, he clumped out of the kitchen.
* * *
Not far away from 12 Grimmauld Place, Ginny Putois was standing at the window of her drawing room. Since she had returned to London, she was avoiding public places and as usually was spending the evening at home. It was getting dark outside and the pelting rain added to the gloomy atmosphere. Mesmerized, she watched the heavy, oblong drops slide down the smooth surface of the glass.
It was a challenge not to cry, seeing those tear-like drops. The clock on the wall chimed eleven o'clock. The moment was near. She repeated this masochistic ritual every year since that night. At twelve o'clock, exactly three years ago, Ginny Weasley ceased to be. That moment marked the rest of her life, where she would be waiting and hoping. Her unwavering faith was a monolith of steel that made her live day after day. One might say that her belief that Draco was still alive, was as strong as Luna Lovegood's belief in Umgubular Slashkilter. And whenever she asked herself why he never tried to find her, she imagined that he had a million of good reasons for that. She'd do anything, but give up the hope and succumb to the reality.
"I want a baby," she said suddenly one morning when they were having breakfast. She said it so calmly, as if she had just asked him to pass the bread. He looked up, surprised, and stared at her, as if looking for a confirmation that the words he heard were not in his imagination.
"A little boy with blond hair who would look just like you," she went on.
"Oh, sweetheart," he replied softly, as he smiled and covered her hand with his. "I'd like us to have a baby too. You can't imagine just how much I want to start a family, but right now is not a good time. Soon, this will be over," he admonished, "and then we'll live a normal life. And we'll have two children. Or maybe even three."
"I want a baby." She repeated stubbornly, "Now."
In his grey eyes she saw a flicker of sadness and annoyance, and she pulled away her hand. She knew that he wouldn't agree. But she couldn't possibly tell him that she'd been having some sense of foreboding for the past few days. More than ever, she really started fearing for his life. But if she told him that, he would only laugh at her silly unfounded fears. What could possibly happen to him? He was invincible. He was Malfoy! And she couldn't tell him that when he would be gone, she'd still have a little blond boy, as a reminder, who would take his place in her heart.
"All right," he sighed, giving in unwillingly. "We'll have a baby."
And just weeks later his name appeared on the list of those who risked their lives to put an end to the raging war. And Ginny was left alone - without Draco and without a little blond boy.
"Damn you, Draco Malfoy! And damn your self-confidence!"
She let a tear escape and it furrowed its way down her cheek. In the clear moments of her somnambulistic existence she would run out of excuses and start doubting. Whenever that happened she would feel so lost and lonely, and she would cling to her futile hopes with renewed enthusiasm. She simply could not survive without him (even if it only was in her memories). He was everything to her. Without him she felt like a desiccated desert. And yet the time went by.
She sniffed and, reaching into her pocket, took out a small tattered picture. It was taken at Hogwarts, in Draco's last year. He was wearing his Quidditch robes and a boyish smile played across his face. In his hand he was holding his newest acquisition, Firebolt 3000, and the golden snitch was fluttering in his other hand. He looked happy and proud. Gingerly, she planted a kiss on his beaming face.
"Silly boy," she whispered. "What have you done with yourself? Why are you hiding from me?"
The boy on the picture flashed a bright smile and she couldn't help smiling back.
"Don't worry. I'll be waiting as long as it takes."