Angel

Angel

She had always left him breathing ragged every time he saw her. She was perfect to him, the white to his black. Nothing came close to her beauty, and she was his. He couldn't be happier with just the single thought that she belonged to no one other than him. Her love was his for the keeping, for the savoring. She was his Garden of Eden, he could wish for nothing more, yet want nothing less. She was the best, and he would not settle for anything below her.

He supposed that's why he was drawn to her in the first place. She was an intrigue, something he couldn't put down or let rest. He had to know what she was about, how she worked. And he did. He found everything there was to know about her, and loved everything about her, even her odd quirks. She was his angel, at least she had been.

He thought nothing would ever stir him from her side, he believed them to be perfect for each other. And they were perfect, well, perfect until she started caring about his private meetings, his business actions.

She had been suspicious, never letting go what he had done that night. She was always skeptical, never really believing his excuses. Always thinking there was someone else, she would throw tantrums, cry until her body had no water left to give. She never had trusted him, never believed she was enough to keep him faithful.

'Oh but you are enough, you are so much more than enough.' he found himself saying to her on multiple occasions, kissing her soft brow. The words brought her to tears, causing her to slump into his chest, her tears soaking his shirts. She cried for him, to him, with him. She was the only one who could tear his eye. He would cry forever if it would just bring her back to him. He knew it wouldn't, he had already tried.

It had been the last straw when he stayed out late one night. He had come home to an empty house; there was no screaming, no slamming doors, just silence. She had yelled herself hoarse; she had had enough of him, enough of his busy life. She wanted him to herself, but she couldn’t have what she wanted.

Just to see her when he woke up was wonderful. To be alone with her was bliss, not having to worry about anything else going on in the outside world. Feeling free to cast aside the world's doubt of their relationship. There was none of that on that cold night. The numerous halls echoed only the wind. The silence was deafening, unbearable.

It broke him inside to think… to know she was never coming back. She deserved better, more. His angel should have the world, but he couldn't give it to her. He never had been able to give it to her. She was unattainable; she had shown him that.

She was a fire that no one could put out. Her spirit was so alive, so happy to be just where it was, so naïve. Naïve until someone started showing her the path to corruption, the path to hatred and sorrow. The path to being alone.

She had once rescued him from that horrid path, and he couldn't even bring himself to stop her. He couldn't in fear of hurting her more. It was the last thing he had wanted, the last thing he could have wished for her.

Alone in a chilled room Draco Malfoy sat, drumming his fingers impatiently on his sleek oak desk. Drumming them as if it was only a matter of time before she would come back.

He longed to have the smell of her peachy skin back in his lonely house. Just to see a glimpse of her flaming red hair would be a consolation. He slowly tipped his glass, sipping his Mai Tai gently. He placed the glass roughly on the desk, standing up. He was going to bring her back.

The chill outside licked the ends of his cloak, threatening to freeze him to the bone, but it was nothing to the coldness he felt inside. It was actually warm to him. The brick buildings of London loomed above his head, casting him into the shadow of the night.

He looked a shady character, all clad in black. The only thing that stood out was his shocking blonde hair. It blew frantically in the gust of passing wind, blinding him momentarily. He lazily brushed it out of his face, stepping into the light of a street lamp.

Glancing down at a piece of paper, he padded up to a tiny building. A smile crept across his face upon seeing the number of the building match with the one on the paper. He could already smell her, taste her.

Adrenaline pumping in his body, he rushed up to the door. Surprisingly, it turned with ease. He stepped inside, a wand quickly flicked to his head. It was she. He turned, looking into her cinnamon eyes.

"Ginny," he drawled, elongating her name, a sneer creeping about the corners of his lips.

She stood in the shadows, though they could not hide her light. Draco concluded to himself that nothing could hide the light she had. Her hair was swept up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Small tendrils, which had flown askew, framed her face.

She was not the most attractive creature he had ever seen, but she was the only one who could hold his attention, but more importantly, his heart. In one quick swoop, Draco snatched the wand from her hand, managing to wrap her body with his own.

She stood cold and tense in his arms, not giving into his touch. She merely narrowed her eyes up at him, demanding that he let her go. Draco let out a cold laugh.

"Let you go? When have I ever let you go?" he asked, his gray eyes mulling around a look of intrigue. Ginny squirmed, punching at his ribs. Draco only pulled her closer.

"Look into my eyes, Ginny," he commanded, tilting her head up by her chin. She tried to look away, but found that she could not.

His eyes had always been what drew her to him. His eyes held a sad story, one she could never resist reading. In those moments when she looked into his eyes, she wanted to save him; she wanted to be his heroine. He was helpless in those moments with her, and she knew.

The way he held her close made her skin tremble, the story in his eyes slowly changing. She could never be sure where it ended, for there seemed that something was always being added on. Someone new had broken his heart, but she could not guess whom. She swore she would kill whoever had hurt him, he was her angel. He may have been a fallen angel, but he was her fallen angel.

She tried to tear away from him in fear that he would hurt her, and it pained her to put herself first, but she had always been second or third in her own family. It was about time she began to look out for herself. She began contemplating her reasoning, wondering if it was really what she wanted.

Ginny looked deeper into his eyes, staring at his gray orbs. It finally hit her; she was the one who had done it to him. She was the one who had hurt him; she had hurt her angel. Her own eyes tearing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.

Awkwardly, he patted her head; gradually becoming relaxed enough to kiss the top of it. He held her piteous heart in his hands; she held his fragile heart in her own. It was a fair exchange between angels.