Frozen Fire

Frozen Fire

Draco Malfoy sat in his armchair in the middle of the hall, surveying the servants. They led a peculiar life, he concluded, watching as they rushed about the hall; dashing in and out of doors with trays in their hands, scurrying to their masters when they were called. Pathetic, he thought to himself, standing up. A house elf paused to see if he wished anything, but scampered away when Draco rose his hand as to strike the creature.

A bright fire blazed in the grate, causing a looming shadow to form on the floor as Draco strode past, arrogance and confidence evident in his strut. He was no normal man of twenty; he held more power than most any other wizard, his situation in life was practically perfect. He had seen more dark arts than possibly Harry Potter had; after all, being a Death Eater had its perks.

His tall figure loomed momentarily in the doorframe, soon disappearing as he stepped into the room. He let his disgusted eye fall over the clutter in the room, swearing he was going to give one of the house elves clothes. Sweeping a pair of emerald dress robes off his bed, Draco descended onto the soft piece of furniture, letting his head sink into the pillows. The cool comfort they exhibited made his mind rest at ease; ease as it had not done since he was seventeen. A warm breeze fluttered through the window, a soft pane of moonlight streaming into the room, the white satin curtains blowing in a swooping motion inside the room by the gentle summer breeze. His soft eyes fluttered closed, his mind drifting to sleep.

He looked as an angel lying on the bed so peacefully, his hair tossed out behind him, forming a golden halo. He may have looked like an angel, but he certainly was not one. If anything, he was the devil’s minion. He took the spot as right hand man after his father had died. Nothing had been the same since his father was murdered; then again, many others were killed that same night causing the change of fate.

Lord Voldemort had fallen in the end of Draco’s seventh year, but life seemed to cling to the foul creature, not letting him lapse into the everlasting darkness of death. So, once again the Lord stayed dormant until he acquired another body, gathering strength once again. It had taken him less time than before, though he had much bigger plans. More severe plans which involved many deaths and tears; though Draco dreamt of none of this.

A small girl who chose neither side in the last war consumed his thoughts, sleeping or not. She was spiteful and disrespectful. She came from a dirty clan of wizards, but his Lord had forbid her death. He had a fondness of her no one could explain, nor begin to fathom; and Draco was punished for raising his wand to her.

He saw the entire incident from the inside of his eyelids, his dream drifting to that rainy night. She had been sitting on a bench in the middle of a deserted, Muggle park. It seemed that she had been waiting for something, though what she was waiting for, Draco could never guess.

He stumbled upon her, his ribs cracking beneath him as he walked. He did not see her at once, for a clump of trees hid her from sight. Draco shuffled past the trees, his eyes barely catching a fleck of her hair. If it had not been for her crimson hair, he would never have seen her. Doubling back on his glance, he assured himself it was she. She saw him looking at her, her cinnamon eyes narrowing. A cruel smile twisted about the corners of her lips.

An invisible flame licked the ends of her robes, causing them to flare out beneath her. It was her spirit, a flame that could not be doused. She emitted nothing any man had seen before, which caused fear when one crossed her path. You could feel her presence by simply walking by her, and that fact chilled Draco to the bones, it was the root of his hatred of her.

His hand had immediately flown to his pocket, grasping tightly to his wand. He watched, as if in slow motion, as she stood up, brandishing her own weapon made of wood. Draco had flicked his head to the side, causing the hair that had lain in his face to soar over to the side of his head. She laughed… a cold laugh that seemed to echo for miles; a laugh that still echoed in his head, he would never forget it. A clump of birds, which had been nesting in a nearby tree, took off into the sky.

"Just pull your wand," she dared him, cocking her eyebrow in delight, watching as he was tormented from the inside out with the decision. She could see how badly he wanted to hurt her, the way he wanted to crack every bone in her frail body. She saw his orders flicking across his mind, she could even see his pain, his ribs cracking closer together every moment he stood facing her. It had caused her delight.

"It must be nice," he had chortled more to himself than anyone. He had watched with amusement, as her face grew pale, her eyes asking him what he had meant. "It must be nice, having people protecting you on both sides."

Her breath became shallow, her chest heaving with every breath she took. Draco watched with glee as he saw the anger rising in her face. Her cheeks had flushed, her lips protruding into a slight pout.

The rain had fallen silently around them, plastering their hair to their heads. Her long plait had dripped with water, the ends of the tendrils hanging from her face caused the rain to trace paths along her cheeks, between her freckles. She looked like a sour candy, waiting for someone to taste her, to pucker at her putrid taste. A candy that was reserved for one person only, though even she did not know to whom she belonged.

Draco had raised his wand, the wetness of his robe making it evident, pointing it straight at her. He wanted nothing more than to crush her, to make her cry out in pain. No one should be pampered to the extent she was; no one deserved to be that pampered. Malice danced in his eyes as he pointed his wand at her heart, his robes billowing out behind him with a sort of power, which made her bones freeze.

"Cr-" Draco had begun, but was hit with the curse himself. She had watched him wriggle on the ground with glee; her eyes shining with thank at the one who was causing him so much pain. A small voice had hissed in his ear. "I told you not to do so much as raise your wand to her,"

Draco suddenly woke, a searing pain coursing through the veins in his left arm. He looked down, watching as what seemed to be a tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding from it’s mouth glowed brighter on his fair skin. He always woke when coming upon that spot of his dream, his memory, no, his phantom of a memory. It was neither past nor present. It was in between, always hovering over him like a dreary cloud.

Draco snapped himself up and out of bed, changing his silver robes to a hooded black garb, which covered every inch of himself, with a swish of his wand. With a soft ‘pop’, he disappeared into the gloom of a courtyard.

He was not alone; hundreds of men and women covered in similar black robes sauntered past him, forming a circle with their bodies. It seemed they had assigned places, for not one stumbled onto the other, nor did they talk. All was silent, except for the padding of footsteps on the grungy soil.

Draco waited where his father had just three years before, rigid as a board. He did not sway on his heels, he did not bounce on the balls of his foot; he stood as still as a statue. Their circle was slowly filled, save for one spot next to Draco. It was always empty; the Dark Lord had assured them it was for someone they could not yet see.

Their heads snapped up slightly in unison as they saw their Lord approach, a string of Dementors forming a circle outside of their own. They bowed deeply, raising their heads enough to see one booted foot stepped through the opening of the always-expected servant, a filled form stepping into the circle. He tossed his head back, a grin extending to his slits-for-a-nose.

"Tonight my loyal servant comes," he chuckled, a shiver running down a few of the member’s spines. As if on cue, a slender figure made its way to its spot, closing the gap in the circle. It felt complete now, though Draco did not know why this uneased him, he knew it only pleased his master, and what pleased his master should please him.

"This is the hour, my servants, in which we will rise up and take this world by force!" Voldemort began his speech; it seemed routine to Draco now, boring him. Every meeting, his Lord gave this certain pep talk, which only resulted in fake screams of triumph from the Death Eaters.

Draco involuntarily shivered, a strong wind licking the ends of his robes, sending a chill up his legs. He would have blamed it on the wind, only there was none. His gray eyes narrowed in accusation, chancing a quick glance to the Death Eater next to him. He spotted a dash of flaming hair sticking out from the end of the hood. He flicked his eyes down to the ground below him, telling himself it could not be her.

Though it made perfect sense, he denied it. He refused to believe that the person standing next to him was the same girl he had faced years ago. She had surely been killed once Dumbledore’s side had found out she was loyal to no one.

His breath swelled in his chest, anger rising in his breast. After all he had done, she was more valued, but for what? She was valued for nothing, she had not killed a single person, she had not even devoted herself to his service. His breath became quick and heavy, his mouth forming a solid frown.

She didn’t deserve to stand next to him; she did not even deserve to stand in this circle of true followers. Now they were people who devoted their life to service, people who did not just join for something to do, like he supposed she had done. He wanted noting more than to reach out his hands and curl them around her fragile neck.

He was jealous, though he would never admit it. He had worked so hard, and barely managed to scrape the respect he held now. He was greedy, and wanted to be the best, the one everyone wanted; and he was, up until now.

"Is there a problem Mr. Malfoy?" Voldemort sneered, his blood red eyes glaring down at Draco’s fists. Draco shook his head, inwardly smiling as he heard his ‘comrade’ next to him gasp in fear.

Lord Voldemort let his jealous eyes loom over the pair of his servants, cursing Draco silently. He remained staring at the two as he continued lecturing his other Death Eaters, observing as they reacted to each other, watching as one cursed the other with their eyes. Their eyes were hidden beneath their black garb, but that did not matter. The Dark Lord could see beyond what many normal wizards could see.

Draco grinned, knowing he still held a power over her, not even noticing that his Lord was observing him all the while. Good, he sneered to himself, letting his eyes loom over her figure. Now that he knew she was female, her curves seemed to be evident. Her hips seemed to flow out from her torso, her frame filled and luscious. Draco looked away from her, his mouth beginning to fill with saliva.

He could not tell what was going on inside, but it was conflicting with his feelings as of moments ago. His eyes focused on the Dark Lord, though his thoughts did not. They strayed to what any twenty-year old man would think if he saw a beautiful woman. Draco shook his head. He did not even know if she was beautiful.

"That is all," Voldemort dismissed his followers, but stayed Draco’s wand. "You will stay."

Draco looked up at him, seeing that the girl next to him was also staying behind. He trotted along like a faithful dog beside Voldemort. Lowering himself to the ground, Draco bowed, his nose touching his polished shoe. Draco straightened himself, looking at Voldemort intently.

"Obviously, neither of you like each other. I will not allow tension in my army, Mr. Malfoy, it will cause problems; and my plans cannot be flawed in any way." The Dark Lord looked at the pair, feeling the rising tension between them. He hissed in disgust. "You will show our newest member the ropes. You will show her what to do, and what being a Death Eater is truly about. If she is assigned a job, you are as well, understood?" he barked, staring into the top of Draco’s head. Draco nodded his head, and with that, Voldemort was gone.

His eyes flicked to the girl next to him, watching as she pulled her hood down, revealing her milky skin. Her hair tumbled down in a sea of orange curls. Gold shone in her ringlets thanks to the moon’s light.

"Well, well, well… if it isn’t Virginia Weasley…" Draco sneered with pleasure as she recoiled at her own name. "Or would you prefer Ginny?"

Frozen Fire Chapter Two

Draco grinned with pleasure, watching as her eyes swam with shame, as she turned her head to the floor. Her hair lay limp about her face, her legs shaking wobbly. He felt a spurt of joy.

"Don't, just don't…" she trailed off quietly as she ran her hands up and down her arms as if to warm them. She's shivering? Draco asked himself as her meek face remained looking at the floor, her eyes not even daring to cross his shoes.

"Don't what, call you by your name? Then what do you suggest I call you?" he spat with annoyance; this was nothing like he planned their next meeting would be. She was immeasurably disappointing; her lack of spirit was irksome. She was certainly not the girl he had run into years ago. No, this had to be an impostor.

"Whatever you like, it doesn't matter to me," she sighed, turning her head up to him. "All I know is I'm not Ginevra Molly Weasley anymore," her doe brown eyes stared past his face, glazing over with tears. The liquid ran down her face, tracing a path amongst her freckles.

What is she doing? Why is she bloody crying? She should be glad not to be a Weasley anymore, shouldn't she? I know I damn well would be. Draco didn't understand, then again, she did not expect him to. Nor did he understand why she wouldn't look at him.

"Look at me dammit!" he cursed, forcefully pulling her chin up so her eyes would look into his own, but she closed them. A pang of frustration shot through his bones. She isn't worth this; I don't know what he sees in her! But Draco never did see what the Dark Lord saw in Ginny, past or present.

"No, that is one thing I won't do. I will not look at you, not you or him. Not after what you both did to me," she snapped, pulling her head from his grip, turning it to one of the gravestones. Draco was stunned speechless… What in Merlin's name did I ever do to her?

"If you need to reach me," she began, pulling out her wand, "I'll be here." A sharp bang indicated a piece of paper flowing out of the tip of her wand. On it was her address. She let it flutter to her feet before disappearing with a soft `pop'.

Draco reached down, touching the paper. He recoiled upon the hot shot of pain that flew through his arm. She had cursed it; he knew it. Charming the piece of paper into his pocket, he disappeared as well.

Inside the main hall of Malfoy manor Draco stood in the doorway, both doors flung open behind them. His mother appeared at the top of their grand staircase as soon as the door opened. She slowly came to him. She was a vision of cold beauty as she cascaded down the steps from the upper floor to the main foyer. Her blue dress trailed the steps behind her. The low neckline of the dress allowed her to wear an extravagant piece of silver and sapphire. Everything complimented her eyes nicely. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun, pulling her face back slightly. It added to the look of seriousness that she often wore. Upon reaching him, she kissed him coldly on both cheeks.

Once the two rather large doors of the main entrance had been closed by their butler, he began walking down the hall, his mother following, dutifully, waiting for a snippet of information from the meeting. He had always given her updates in the past, just as his father had after he had forbidden her from attending meetings. It was for her own safety, he had said. Draco, however, didn't seem to notice her trailing behind him. The only thing he heard, apart from his footsteps, was Ginny's voice ringing with anger, accusing him of something he had no idea of.

The fact that he had done something to Ginny Weasley didn't bother him. In fact, it slightly delighted him. He was more interested in the fact that he didn't know what he had done. Surely name calling from their childhood and things of the like were ruled out because nothing of that nature could derive such a hate to not look into his eyes. No, that couldn't have been it. He hadn't killed any Weasleys, no matter how many times he had asked for the job. No, that couldn't have been it. What could it have been? He had to know… so he could do it again and use it to control her.

His eyes closed in thought. He was not afraid of tripping or missing a step, he knew the manor inside out, it was as if it was part of him, and he knew every bit of himself, or so he thought. Narcissa had halted once they entered the parlor, tired of following him. She had seated herself on a high-backed chair and watched him from her perch as he approached the hallway, unsure if he had forgotten their ritual.

She cleared her throat loudly, her big blue eyes opening wide with indignation. Draco promptly halted. He turned abruptly on his heel. A small smile was playing at the corner of his lips. No one was better to strategize with than Narcissa Malfoy. Surely she could provide him with an answer as to what to do with Ginny Weasley.

"The meeting was quite vexing. I've been assigned to train the Weasley girl."

“The Weasley girl?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in contemplation so that she looked like a hawk. Realization lighted her face moments later. “Very curious…” She folded her hands in her lap, looking at him as if she was expecting him to say more.

“Yes, I thought so.” Draco treaded over to a chair next to his mothers and seated himself down. “I'm glad you think so too. Though, I fear the Dark Lord cannot see that she's weak and useless.”

Narcissa's blue eyes looked up from under her eyelids, her light lashes making her look more intense. “I wouldn't exactly say that. She's quite a tool, Draco. Quite a tool.”

Draco's eyebrow cocked. “What do you mean, mother?”

She laughed lightly, the sugary sound echoing off the walls. When the sound died, it made the room seem emptier than it had previously been. “My son. Do not let certain facts escape you. I did not raise you to be an imbecile. She is a key to both sides. She is the lucky charm of these wars we fight. She lingered in limbo when she ran away from responsibility and so did triumph. She disappeared and the fighting followed after her. Now that she has resurfaced, by your side, she will end things. Whether she knows it or not,”

His mothers words of Ginny running away lingered for a moment in Draco's head. Coming back to reality, he turned and looked curiously at his mother. “My side?”

She waved her hand impatiently in the air. “Yes, your side,” she snapped harshly, making him wince. “You do not see the Dark Lord training her or watching her every step, do you? No. It is you.”

Looking for anything to change the conversation, he referred back to what had lingered in his head. “What makes you so sure she ran away, anyway?”

“Well, it's completely plausible that Potter banished her. But she is not as strong as to face him after what she did,” Once finished speaking, she exited the room swiftly. Apparently she was displeased at the small amount of information he had provided her with.

Not wishing to further the conversation, Draco stalked off in the other direction to his study. His mother was not one to talk to when she was in a testy mood. He also was not one to pry. He was above that.

Draco soon found himself in the study, sitting at his desk. A quill sat in his hands, a piece of parchment next to him on the oak desk. He didn't know whom he wanted to write to, not even bothering with the small detail of what he wanted to write. All he knew was that he had been drawn to take the penning items out as soon as he sat down in his father's old dragon-hide chair. Letting the quill drop quietly onto the desk, he leaned backwards, folding his hands behind his head.

It was an odd situation he had managed to get himself into. Being tour guide for the Dark Lord's prize wasn't a position he normally filled, but then again she needed someone to show her what it was like. What he couldn't understand was why he was chosen. Why not someone else? There were plenty of other people who were more, or less as this situation called for, qualified. He could have even assigned another traitorous Gryffindor to lead her around like a pathetic dog on a leash. Finnegan, for example, would have been perfect for her.

Perhaps he was chosen because he was the best. Surely the Dark Lord's prize deserved the best. Yes, that had to be it. He tried to take it as a compliment, even though it was quite hard. The best minion should be doing real jobs, not babysitting some wench.

She wasn't even spicy anymore. She was more like dead fruit which had shriveled up from lack of sunlight. This girl, no woman, wouldn't be of any use to his master. Not unless he wanted lustful pleasure, but Draco would not bring himself to imagine such a feat.

She was so old, but young at the same time. Her looks had aged, but she still very much acted like a child. One who was longing to go out to play, but had to stay inside because they had a cold. She was so delicate, but rough. Cold but warm. Draco couldn't describe her; she was too deep and controversial to really understand. One moment she would be one thing, but in a matter of seconds would change to the exact opposite.

Only one thing seemed to trigger the change in emotions. It was the simple thought, glance or even mention of himself or his master. Draco's stomach churned uncontrollably, a feeling he had never felt before settling in the pits of his stomach. Seeing her would be the only answer. He closed out his eyes and took out his wand, disappearing from the study.

When Draco opened his eyes, he was standing in front of what seemed to be an abandoned flat. He reluctantly let his eyes take in the moldy wooden planks, which was the only lining of the building, cool gusts of air swimming between the cracks. He slightly shivered, staring down at the floor.

Pieces of litter lined the edges where the wall met the ground, loose wrappers flying back and forth with the wind, not really getting a chance to settle in any particular spot. Their scampering about the floor gave the illusion that they didn't know where they belonged, which seemed to go along with the building. It seemed as if it didn't belong anywhere itself. He wouldn't be surprised if it was a drifter.

Looking up at the rusted number atop the door, he made sure that it was the correct building. Not even bothering to knock, he strode inside the darkened place. There were no candles to illuminate the room, no Muggle light switches to turn on, not even a dash of moonlight could be seen through the curtains. The only word that could describe the flat was dark.

Suddenly a lamp clicked on; light flooding the face of the particular redhead he was responsible for. Her mouth curved into a cruel grin, her eyes lingering upon his chest. Her inability to look him in the eye angered him, but he suppressed it, stepping towards her.

"Couldn't just bugger off, could you?" she asked tartly, wrapping her silky black robe tight against her body as an action to occupy her hands more than anything else. She was unfazed by the cold that loomed about her entire flat.

"Hello my little Diable," he sneered, stepping closer to her. He saw her shake in her chair, but her face seemed determined.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, staring daggers into his designer made shoes. "What did you call me?" He didn't respond, only took another step nearer to her. She stood up, her back rigid like a hissing cat. "Get out of my house," she ordered, pointing her finger towards the door.

He was slowly circling her, his body moving closer to hers the entire time. She could feel his eyes digging into her skull. It was as if he was trying to scorch her with his gaze, punishing her for not returning his hateful glare. She left her eyes staring into the tops of his shoes as her response. "I told you to get out…" she murmured, her voice staying monotone, but dropping its severity. Draco grimaced.

"Am I making you nervous? Provoking something that has laid dormant in you for a long time?" he spat, his face twisting into something truly horrible. "And you don't want it to come out, you little Diable, do you?" he finished, his cold gray eyes twinkling with their own laughter. She shuddered as his hard grip crashed upon her tiny shoulders, his hold digging deep past her skin, bruising her bone.

That's when he violently shook her for a response, pushing her against the wall so that her body was either going to be crushed by him or the wooden boards. She let out a tiny whimper of anguish, her body's reaction to the pain. Although pain was not new to her, this seemed to be crueler than anything else she had been subjected to.

"Speak, my little devil, surely you have some venom to spit, some wrath to leash out. Something, just anything. You are not dead... I know it. My enemy lies dormant inside you; the part of you that wants to look in my eyes and slap me is fighting to get out. I can see it in those eyes!" Draco raved like a madman.

He pushed his body against her, pinning her down harder. Releasing his tight grip from her body, he pulled her head up, holding her eyelids open. He was forcing her to look him in the eye. She made her eyes dart to the sides so she could still avoid him.

"You don't want me to look at you," she hissed, emotion skating around the edges of her voice.

Draco sneered with triumph. "Yes, I think I do." When she didn't move, he continued. "Don't worry, my eyes aren't like Potter's, they won't look at you with disappointment or sorrow. They will only offer you the emotion you can handle, hatred."

"Your eyes will never be like Harry's! Don't you EVER compare yourself to him!" her eyes grew wide, her breath becoming fast and uneven. Her chest heaved up and down, her shoulders tensing up tightly. Arms wriggling free from Draco's chest, she pushed him away with a force she hadn't imagined she had, her eyes lingering anywhere but on his the whole while.

He stumbled away, laughing cruelly. His shoulder smashed into the wall, but he didn't notice. He was only focusing on Ginny, and how her fire was slowly escaping from its icy cage.

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Frozen Fire Chapter Three

Indeed, Ginny was slowly coming out of her shell. She was quickly escaping the cage that she had made for herself. Her walls were crumbling down and she didn't even notice.

“Don't you EVER,” she strode over to him and dealt a swift blow to his chest with a burst of force from her wands tip. “Even speak of Harry again!” Draco crumpled to his knees, holding his middle with both of his arms smoothly crisscrossed. Yes, yes. Strike me, hit me, knock me to the ground. That's it, just a bit more.

Draco's head slowly came up, his hair veiling his face. “He'll never have you back. Why defend him?” he sneered as he looked peculiarly at her through sheets of fine hair.

“I don't have to explain myself to you!” Ginny shouted, her cheeks flushing a dark red with embarrassment.

Draco, though surprised, masked his emotion. “You feel emotions, then?”

“Of course I feel,” she snapped hurriedly, the flush fading fast. “I am just like any other person who cares and is sad and is happy and…”

“Loves?” he offered, stumbling up from his knees, a flash flitting across his eyes.

The darkness of the room spoke volumes at that moment. It was like a surreal abyss, encircling two people who would never wish to be in company together. One was shocked and the other curious. Neither had ever been so affected by speech.

“Of…” Ginny tried to speak, but found that she could not.

“Why love him? He is nothing special. He threw you aside when he could have won you over to his side with Dumbledore. You could have been his prize, and he knew, but he did not want you. He doesn't care for you. You are nothing to him, and should be nothing. You are not worthy of even Potter…”

Ginny's eyes widened as she raised her wand slowly but surely. With every inch that her wand rose, she began to slowly realize what she was doing… what she was letting him do to her. She could suddenly see the manipulation that was echoing off the walls. She could see his tricks as if a hidden curtain in the corner of her mind had suddenly been drawn back. If anything, she wouldn't let him win. She would never let him or his Lord win.

Draco seemed to notice the fire escaping her, for he began to whisper certain manipulations under his breath to raise the fire in her once more. Ginny merely sat down in her chair again. No, he would not win today.

Realizing defeat, Draco cocked his eyebrow. “So fast to fade, are we?”

She looked at the far corner of the room. “Only if it is to fade from your wishes.”

“You disgust me.”

Draco spat in her face, the gob of saliva landing neatly on her cheek.

“You are pathetic and do not deserve to live. You're the same as you were three years ago. You're still that sniveling little girl in the park who will never do anything, who will never become anything, who will always be just another one of the crowd, just barely living off of everyone's pity, begging them to-”

A loud slap echoed through the dark and deserted flat.

“I don't beg.”

Her eyes dangerously darted up to his, but within a moment she had wilted onto the floor, unconscious.

“At least we're making progress,” Draco said to himself as he straightened up and pulled his shoulders back.

With his now calm demeanor, there also came the realization of the hurts that he had endured. His shoulder cracked uneasily and shot pains down his arm if he moved it in a certain direction and his breathing was shallow and weak. For a few moments, he had found joy in riling her up. It was a joy that he had not felt in a very long time.

He knew it would not be so easy next time.

Draco stood beside Ginny, taking in her small frame. Her light skin contrasted with the dark wooden floor and her hair seemed to be the color of blood in the lack of light. He saw no movement. A frantic thought shot through his brain.

Is she dead?

Draco fell to the floor desperately, knowing the repercussions he would receive from his master if she had died.

His hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her up so that she was sitting. He called her name -nothing. He shook her violently -nothing. He pushed open her eyelids -nothing.

Draco dropped her from shock upon seeing her eyes. They were all white. Any color had rolled to the back of her head. He couldn't even see light lines where her veins should have been. And then, they started to roll, but no color could be seen anywhere. It had disappeared.

Fearful for himself, Draco scooted backwards, away from her. She moaned and swayed around, her eyes still open and blank. Before Draco could pull out his wand to disapparate, she had stopped and became lifeless upon the floor once more.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own heart, thumping thumping thumping in his chest. It seemed as if everything in the world had stopped. There was no movement outside; there was no sound at all. Just his own heartbeat and the blood rushing in his veins.

His hand stretched out to her arm, her closest body part, hesitantly. Then, something happened that had never happened to him before. He felt compelled to draw closer to her, to look into her vacant ghostly eyes.

And he did so, staring deep into their depth. But he did not see the reflection of his own face, nor any veins or anything that one should see when one looks in the blank eyes of their enemy. No, instead he saw a memory. A memory so clear and haunting that it captivated him and would not let him go.

At first it was just a mystifying smoke, but the smoke soon formed figures and a place Draco had never seen. At least, he had thought he had never seen it. He scuttled closer to her and peered over her with the wonder of a child.

He felt suddenly as if he was being swirled inside of her head even though he could still feel the floor firmly under his hands. She had unknowingly taken his mind and let it in. Her eyes were more than a window; they were a door. A door which he gladly entered.

Draco now saw himself inside a cozy home, sitting in front of a fireplace with a warm fire crackling in its grate rather than the cold and dirty flat he was actually in. The couch he was sitting on was oddly comfortable even though he knew it was nothing he would have ever purchased. It spelled poor.

His eyes gently rose from the fireplace to the mantle and saw a string of young redheaded wizards and a witch… Ginny. He looked abruptly to his side and saw the girl from the picture sitting right beside him. She had the bottom of her dirty robe twisted up in her hand in anticipation.

She was wet. She looked as if she had just come in from the rain. She looked as if she was only sixteen or seventeen. Draco did not know which, nor did he care. Her actions concerned him more than anything.

There was silence for quite some time where Draco and Ginny both sat, listening to the tinkling of the rain on her rooftop. Getting restless, Draco stood and walked about the room, examining trinkets that she or her mother had undoubtedly set about the room as decoration. Draco scoffed at a small glass unicorn resting on the corner of a table.

A clock chimed midnight somewhere in the house and her eyes snapped up. He stopped and his eyes followed hers to the window. She stood quickly, looked around, and sprinted to the door, her feet not making a sound on the floor like a cat. Her sneakers, however, squished lightly with every step she took, they were soaked through and through.

She opened the back door soundlessly and slipped through, closing it firmly behind her. Draco did not follow her, he merely walked through the door. It was only a memory after all and he was just playing the part of the impartial viewer.

Even though it was raining outside, the drops seemed to evade Draco. He looked about for the young redhead, and only caught a glimpse of her disappearing into the trees. Without hesitation, he sprinted after her. He was not about to lose her in her memory when nothing of note had happened. That and the Weasley backyard was nothing to look at.

She delved deep into the woods of her backyard, Draco just behind her the entire time. She finally stopped by a stream. Understanding that this was where they were to wait, Draco settled himself on a rather smooth rock and waited with the young Ginny for whomever was to come.

A burst of light, it was impossible to tell what color for it blinded them both, was seen in the distance directly behind them. Ginny moved to go back towards her house, but a small pop prevented her from doing anything.

Draco could not describe the surprise he felt, for he was looking at a younger version of himself. He pushed his own mind to relive a time like this, but none came. Perhaps it was too focused on the thought that he, Draco Malfoy was whom Ginny Weasley was waiting for. He felt as if he was going to be sick to his stomach.

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