♥ "Death Will Tremble (To Take Us)" for Astraea 1/2 ♥
Title: Death Will Tremble (To Take Us) 1/2
Rating: PG 13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Some angst
Author's Notes: I hope you guys like it! :) This is my first fanfic in 4, 5 years so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Summary: Strange dreams plague Ginny, making her realise that there's more to Draco Malfoy than she knows, that love can indeed span centuries, and that death is never final.
Death Will Tremble (To Take Us)
I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.
Running. She is running towards the edge of the forest, skirts lifted and feet bare. Her breaths escape her in small wisps of smoke, disappearing into the moonlit night. The moon is full, a gleaming silver coin in the black sea of stars. It is sad and pale and full of mystery. Like his eyes. So much like his eyes.
She ducks into a clearing, their secret meeting place - wholly unaware that a pair of jealous eyes has watched her traverse across the grass, narrowing meanly when the shadow of a rider comes into view. Soon, the thud of hoof beats becomes apparent, and the trail of dust billows from beneath the horse, just as menacing as those of the Vikings.
Swiftly darting behind a gnarled tree, she smiles a sly smile as she hears the heavy thud of boots that signalled his dismount. There is a pause, and she knows he is looking for her through the shadowy woods. She imagines his handsome mien contorted with helpless frustration, and with that, a quiet giggle unconsciously escapes her.
He goes silent and still at once. And then, he gives a shuddering sigh of one struggling to rein in his impatience, “The night grows old, my love. Grant me a touch of your lips, for I must soon depart. ‘Tis a treasure I am after to-night, and I must make haste.”
She steps out of the shadows and into his waiting arms. His countenance softens and then his lips are burning hers - all liquid fire and trembling ice. It ends too soon, with his warmth lingering painfully on her lips as he leaps onto the saddle and prepares to ride off.
His mount whinnies impatiently, but he stills the animal with a touch. Eyeing her contemplatively, he says, “I should return before the morning light, but should they pursue me… Wait for me by the moonlight, my love. Wait for me, for I will come to thee.”
She nods. He looks frightening shadowed under the eerie moonlight, with his hooded eyes the colour of the moon and the shadow of him stark black melding into the night. With a final intense look, he tugs at the reins and gallops off into the night. She watches him till he is a speck in the dark distance.
The night passes into sunrise.
Then it is noon.
Sunset.
He still does not return, and her heart is sick with dread.
And then when the moon rises against the deep night, glowing like a pearl, she runs out towards the woods again, not noticing the moving shadows lurking. As she nears the woods, someone clamps down on her mouth and heaves her inside the darkness of the forest. Iron chains are tied around her wrists and rags are shoved into her mouth to silence her screams.
A shadow approaches her, lumbering in the dark. He is almost near enough to touch her when a small flame jumps up in the torch he is carrying, illuminating his scarred visage and cruel eyes. His armour is bulky and bloody - Vikings. He leers at her, and flinching, she turns to the side - only to lock eyes with the strange man whom her father had hired as the stable hands. Little wonder he is always skulking about her. Traitor.
“Where is your love to save you now? The moment he steps into the woods, ‘tis his end by fire - as is the same for thee.” The Viking grabs her chin to face him, and she cries out in muffled pain. His fat fingers dig into her throat, and she is gasping, choking, the world is spinning and she prays that her love, oh her sweet sweet love, will have no harm befall upon him.
Then, in the quiet of the night, there is a thudding of hooves approaching. Her aching throat is released, as all pause to listen. Through the trees, she spots the familiar shadow of her love and immediately, the pounding of her heart drowns out everything else. The Viking turns to her, cackling, and she knows that this trap of Vikings is for him and they mean to kill him and she can feel the rage burning in her bones, fire fire fire.
There must be some madness reflected in her eyes, for the Viking rears back, but ‘tis all too late.
All too late.
She hears hooves pounding, her heart pounding, her head throbbing with anger and in those precious seconds, she launches herself at the Viking, toppling the torch over onto the oil-soaked ground. With grim satisfaction, she watches the Vikings’ growing horror as the fire snakes around them in a deadly coil, burning and burning and burning with hungry abandon.
Her vision swims and she sees a vague shadow of him jumping off his mount and into the fire but ‘tis too late. There is a smell of burnt flesh but she only sees his fear and love and then all the consuming flames around her turn black.
*
I’d do anything for you.
*
Ginevra Weasley awoke with a start, panting heavily.
It was well past midnight and the night outside was calm and quiet. It was a sickening contrast to the anarchy in her mind. The dark, the fire, the fear… And at the same time, a purely overwhelming love - was that even what it was? - that reverberated through her at the thought of the mysterious man with those pale, pale eyes. Dreamy images of fire was still burning beneath her lids, but in her dorm, she was safe; there was no fire, only the thin veneer of quiet.
She supposed there ought to be a reason why all this nightmares started ever since she’d found herself stuck in detention with Draco Malfoy, of all people. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to care, to be honest. She was tired, and she wanted to get this two month’s long detention over and done with so she could get on with her life. She didn’t even care that it was Malfoy’s fault for landing them in detention; she just wanted it all to end.
That night, she hadn’t expected anyone to be up in the Astronomy Tower. She had just evaded Filch and crept up into the tower, unaware that the tall shadow overlooking the school grounds would jump on her, his fingers digging viciously into her throat, crushing the air in her lungs. Needless to say, she screamed and struggled for her life only to suck in sweet air when the shadow was hoisted off her by a bedraggled Filch. His hood had slipped off then, revealing his pale eyes that shone like the moon outside.
They had spent the first week of detention in tense silence, the edge palpable in the dank air. Their punishment was as follows: daily detention for a period of two months, during which they would replenish Madam Pomfrey’s store of healing potions together without any repetition of that night’s events whatsoever. This uneasy silence all came roaring to a halt when a seemingly insouciant Malfoy sauntered into the dungeons one day, disgustingly tossing his books onto the table and knocking over the brew she had been simmering for hours. She’d have hexed him into the next century had it not been for the fact that it would have been deemed a ‘repetition of that night’s events’, resulting in more detentions.
Wand in hand, she gritted her teeth and snarled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
When he didn’t even bother to respond, she continued, “You do know that it’s your fault that we’re in detention, yes? It’s your fault and -”
“If you hadn’t barged in and startled me, we wouldn’t be having sodding detention now,” snapped Malfoy finally.
She raised her voice up a notch, “It’s your bloody fault and not once -”
“How -”
“And not once, prior to this, have I even said anything about that night. Not once have I questioned you on why you were up there, not once have I asked why you deigned to attempt to strangle me to death, not bloody once have I even blamed you or complained about my being punished for being strangled in the dead of the night! I let you try to kill me, without demanding so much as an explanation in return. I would like an iota of respect, thank you very much!”
There was silence. He turned away from her then, and all she could glean from his profile was the almost sad downturn of his lips that seemed permanently present. The world froze and she saw his sunken cheeks, his drawn posture that never left. And she remembered the night he attacked her like he expected trouble, like he was in danger, like he was scared.
But then he turned to face her again and that world fell away. His expression was calm and composed, though his eyes told a different story.
“You do have it, you know,” he said conversationally, picking up the knife and starting to dice the ingredients of the potion expertly.
Sullenly, she glared, “Have what?”
“My respect.”
That had been a few days ago. Contrary to her expectations, nothing much had changed. Their detentions were still filled with silences - albeit more comfortable ones. There was no tension or tenuously controlled irritation on her part, and she noticed that his drawn shoulders were starting to relax a little more as well. Still, silence rang within the dungeons.
When evening came that day, she made her way down to the dungeons listlessly. It had not been a good day. Bad sleep the night before had her fumbling before Snape, who promptly gave her hell. McGonagall, who was having one of her irritable days, was not much better. All in all, it had been a rough day. She wanted was the quiet of her dorm, and preferably, the peace of sleep - although, peaceful sleep was something she rarely had these days.
Malfoy already had his cauldron bubbling when she walked in. He was early and was diligently slicing away at the ingredients. This was as good as Malfoy’s moods went, she supposed, though it did nothing to lift hers. He slanted a glance at her as she unceremoniously tossed her books on the table and fell back into her seat.
He whistled. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to honour me with her presence?”
This was the first thing he chose to say to her in days? Unbelievable. “Sod off, Malfoy.”
“Someone has her knickers in a twist,” snickered Malfoy.
“You are-”
“I have good news for you, Weasley. In your irresponsible absence, I have taken it upon myself to prepare all the ingredients you need for the Dreamless Drought of yours. All you have to do now is to toss it all in, let it simmer and there you have it!”
“-such a wanker,” she finished lamely.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll have you know that I only did it so I wouldn’t have to suffer more detentions with you. You had better not start waxing poetry about my eyes or anything like that.”
She deliberately infused her tone with aversion. “You? Your eyes? Let me assure me, there’s nothing remarkably poetic on both counts.”
Malfoy sobered, casting a searching glance in her direction. Whatever he saw in her expression had his lips quirk into a smirk. She laughed then, and a peek at him told her his shoulders were quivering from trying to hold back his laughter. Forgetting all the troubles of the day, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh harder.
*
She has been his prisoner for more than six moons now.
Every dark, she watches the moon. There have been six full moons. It has been a long time. She has stopped trying to escape. Her family lies on the other side of the land, fighting a bloody war against the man she loves, against her captor. She does not know what to do. Summer has come and gone, and now autumn descends. It has been a long time. She does not know what to do.
She remembers when the bright sun shimmered in the blue sky, when wild flowers grew abundantly and the hills were decorated with lush green meadows. They would sit by the stream; stilted forced words at first, then it gave way to easy laughs and smiles. Swimming in the lake, the sunny laughter, the slick touches, the peace. Now it has grown dark and the leaves fall and the flowers wilt.
He always comes to her in the dark, and this night is no different. She hears the quiet shuffle of his footsteps, leans into him when he embraces her, kisses him back when he kisses her. To-night, he is quiet. There is no sound save for the steady rhythm of his breathing. Her mind is in anarchy but her heart is at peace. The night is quiet. The stars are bright, and the moon full and pale - like this eyes.
His voice is low and quiet when he speaks, “Do you miss them?”
“Aye, all the time.”
He is silent. Then, a hoarse desperate whisper, “What do we do?”
There is no language to express her answer. So she turns in his arms and kisses him. I love you I love my family why do we have to be enemies so much fighting so much blood must keep you safe this war will end us I cannot forsake you I love you I love you I love you.
“If fate was merciful, I would not be their leader and you would not be the daughter of my enemy. And w-we, we-”
Her lips are a prayer on his. “Hush, love.”
“Do you trust me?” Do you love me?
She hears the hidden question beneath his words. “Always.”
He does not speak, and pulls her through out of her chambers and through the castle with tearing speed. His face is a mask of determination and composure. She lets herself be tugged through the stone walls and into the stables. A stableman promptly hands him the reins of the fastest steeds. He has her saddled up before she knows it. His black steed trots away and hers follow.
“We are takin’ the passage through the woods. You will be with them by sunrise.”
Shock has her freezing in her saddle. “You are taking me back.”
“Aye.”
It is only when they finally enter the woods does she have the coherency of mind to speak. “W-why?”
There is a pause, and various emotions flicker through his face, highlighted in the moonlight. “Because I love you,” he says finally.
Anger courses through her. “This will no’ end the war,” she hisses.
“I will end it. And I will come back for you.”
“My love…” Whatever she has to say is cut off by an arrow whizzing past her and embedding itself into a tree.
His horse neighs in panic and slumps on the ground, with several arrows sticking out of its side. He is thrown off his horse. She screams, flying off her horse and onto the hard ground. There is a screaming pain in her leg is nothing compared to watching the way he draws his sword only to be shot down with numerous arrows. One to the neck. She is running towards him now, throwing herself over him, snarling at the shadows that reveal themselves to be his own men led by his traitorous second.
Ignoring the arrow in her leg, she picks up his sword and cleaves through one of the soldiers wandering too close. He dies in a conflagration of blood, screaming armour and torn flesh. That lets loose another hail of arrows but she kills another soldier that is touching her love.
Then her sight grows dim and she falls to his chest. His arms weakly cradle her head and she sees his second’s maniacal grinning face as she closes her eyes.
*
Ginny watched Malfoy through the glass windows of the library. It was a sunny late afternoon, and the school grounds were infinitely more interesting than her Charms essay. He walked with an easy grace, casting a bored glance at Harry, Ron and Hermione as he passed. They stared at his retreating back, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He chose a tree by the lake, took out a book, and eyed the expanse of the shimmering waters before visibly sighing.
She found herself staring at him. The way his hair glowed like a halo, the constant downturn of his lips, his silver eyes that seemed to burn in the sunlight. His silver eyes that burned into hers.
Oh Merlin, she had been caught.
She had a funny feeling inside her.
But she could not look away.
His eyes seemed as depthless as the oceans, as encompassing as the skies. Then he gave her the barest of smiles before looking away, and that broke the spell. She was able to breathe again. Swallowing, she jumped to her feet, gathered her belongings and left. There was no way she could focus on her essay after that.
The second time it happened she was at the Great Hall having dinner. It had been nearly a month since their first detention; one more month to go. It had been a good week, despite the dreams. Ron was on her left, mumbling something with food in his mouth. Hermione was laughing and trying to dab at the food smear on his cheek. Harry… Harry was smiling at her and telling her about his day.
She smiled back and nodded, making the occasional appropriate remark here and there, letting him offer her various food and placing them on her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione’s knowing look, and tamped down on how uncomfortable it made her.
But maybe, maybe Harry was for her because she knew him better than he knew himself and that was safety, right? He made her smile and laugh and would not break her heart even if he had it. Even if he only knew a shadow of her, even as he thought he knew her completely, even if his touch was bland bland bland. He was a good person, he would never hurt her and everyone liked him. She shouldn’t be such a hopeless romantic because that was what it was. Hopeless. And she would be stupid to hope for fire.
“What’s wrong, Gin?” Harry asked, expression creased with concern.
She forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Harry. Just a little tired.”
He nodded, and piled more food on her plate. She continued to eat, pausing to smile and nod at the right moments, and was rewarded with a brilliant grin from Harry. Slightly on edge, she stuffed some potatoes into her mouth and looked away, chewing gracelessly.
Her eyes wandered and fell on a familiar blonde - who was looking straight back at her. She stared back in surprise, her heart stilling in her chest. He smiled at her then, one that straddled both amusement and awkwardness. A few heartbeats passed and she found herself smiling back the best she could with her mouth full of potatoes. He had worlds in his eyes; it was a strange feeling rising, so she immediately turned away.
For some inexplicable reason, she walked around feeling lighter than she ever had in months. A week of detentions went by smoothly, and she was starting to get the feeling that the three more weeks of detention left was… inadequate. Still, she did not want to think about what he was to her. Whenever their eyes met and she smiled at him, the smile he’d return was not the smooth practiced smile meant for everyone. It was private, the awkward twisting of lips almost confused, shocked, and… happy?
He was always alone these days, Crabbe and Goyle nowhere to be seen. It was puzzling. So she casually asked him one day during detention, when they were brewing their draughts in companionable silence after an attempt at conversation turned slightly stilted.
“So, Malfoy, what happened to your friends? You don’t seem to be on very good terms with everyone recently.”
There was a pause in his stirring, and his hands shook slightly. His face, however, remained impassive. “We had an argument,” he said finally.
“You against every Slytherin?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” muttered Ginny. “Would if help if you apologised? Because, you know, you have the tendency of being quite a sod.”
He barked a harsh laugh. “If it makes me a sod for not apologising for letting every-fucking-body down by rejecting the Dark Mark, then so be it.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Was that why you were in the tower that night? It’s a good place to think. I like to go there on quiet nights just to, you know, be alone and think… It’s a beautiful place.”
From the way he turned away from her stiffly and went back to stirring the brew viciously, she knew the answer was a yes.
There was silence for a good hour - uncomfortable now - till Ginny decided to break it. “For what it’s worth, it was the right choice you made.”
“Coming from you, mudblood-lover?”
It hurt. More deeply than she thought it would. More than it should. Pride had her trying not to let it show. “Coming from your friend, Draco. Your friend who respects you for being you.”
He was angry now, the blaze evident in his eyes and the ice in his tone. He was harsh, sardonic… hurtful. “So if I really did accept the Dark Mark, and it was a part of me, would you respect me for being me then?”
She knew her answer would kill or remedy the situation entirely. But she was at a loss at what to say. “Well, I knew your father tossed me Riddle’s diary that made me open the Chamber of Secrets but I’ve still always been your friend, haven’t I?”
*
Privateer, he calls himself. She snorts, watching the waves roll by the speeding vessel. Pirate more like. The sea is rough today, and the biting wind threatens to blow her scarves away. It is cold, even as the sun shines brightly above them. It has been a long journey.
“Good morn,” the pirate says, coming to rest beside her. “I trust you slept well?”
“As well as I possibly can on a ship.”
“Love, this is the finest ship ever to sail the high seas,” he says indulgently. “Not to mention, my Captain’s cabin far surpasses any other cabin out there.”
“I would rather sleep in the cargo hold,” she mutters sourly.
He only gives her an amused smirk. “You say that all the time but I do not see you trying to escape my quarters… Seems like you cannot resist my charms, yes?” Her narrowed eyes do nothing to deter him. “Come with me, I want to show you the crow’s nest.”
The view from the crow’s nest is magnificent. Miles and miles of sea stretching out boundlessly. She sees various pods of whales and small icebergs. It is all passing like a dream until she spots dark shadows in the horizon. Quickly, she rouses the dozing pirate at her side. He wakes blearily, and his countenance turns menacing as he drags her down from the crow’s nest.
He turns to his first mate, waiting anxiously for his commands. “Mr Thaper, escort the lady to the engine room. It seems as though we have some pirate ships in our midst.”
She opens her mouth to protest but he cuts her off steadily. “Stay there, love.”
With that, he strides off, barking orders at his scrambling crew. The deck is chaotic, sailors dashing over to load the canons and hoist the colours. The ships she’d thought were shadows came drifting closer and closer into view, till she could see the various pirates at the helms of their vessels. Once inside the engine room - the most secure place on a ship - she leans onto a wall, concentrating on breathing deeply for a long while. There is a sinking feeling in her, a sense of foreboding that has her feeling slightly nauseous. Outside the engine room, the firing has started; she feels it in the dreadful shuddering and rocking of the ship.
There are sounds of screaming and dull groans coming from the ship permeate the engine room. She cannot bear it any longer, so she runs onto on deck and is horrified at the carnage everywhere.
Her pirate is covered in blood but furiously fighting three other pirates at once. She sees another sneaking up behind with a long dagger, and something feral overcomes her. Picking up a sword slick with blood, she rushes into the fray and kills him - at the same time, feeling like something icy and fiery stabbed through her.
He is beside her immediately, his horror almost palpable. She touches his face, smearing more blood on his cheek, and tries to smile. Then her eyes close.
*
We are both too wild, too proud, too full of fire and dark. I told you we’d wear each other out, burn each other till we just combust and self-destruct. And there would be nothing for you and me then.
For us. No matter how much we burn each other, there’s always a us.
*
Draco barged into the dungeons looking a little worse for wear. It was their last detention, and she’d been strangely nervous about it. Barely sparing her a glance, he swooped down and vigorously starting working on his potion like his life depended on it. The minutes stretched by, and there was no sound save for his furious stirring and slicing.
“Is… something wrong?” She ventured eventually, sounding more timid than casual.
“Does something have to be wrong?” He snapped, crushing the beetles with unwarranted violence.
Ginny wisely kept silent and focussed on her work. A strange vulnerable feeling was welling up in her, a defensive mechanism that had her wanting to leave the dungeons and never have to come into close proximity with him again. She was… hurt. Merlin, of all sodding things to be feeling, she was hurt. Bugger. “My brother was right, you’re a slimy ferret. And I was wrong to think you were more than that.”
He gave no indication that he heard her.
Something was clawing its way out of her, a vindictive streak that had her wanting him to hurt him back, to hurt him so she’d feel less powerless. “What’s wrong? The Dark Lord gave you another chance but you were too much of a coward to take him up on his offer?”
That had his bloody attention.
He turned to face her then, hands trembling with suppressed violence. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about,” said Draco through gritted teeth.
“But I do know! I know your family wants you to be Voldemort’s right-hand man. I know you don’t want to, and because of that, your father has disowned you. I know how much that affects you, even if you don’t let it show. I know you try to appear cold and heartless when you really are not. Tsk, all that pride.”
“Shut. Up.”
“I’m right then, no?” She laughed, mocking. “I also know you don’t actually hate me but it will be a secret you’d take to your grave.”
He was right in her face now, tremulous with barely concealed rage. His eyes had darkened like storm clouds, and for a brief moment, Ginny’s fury froze and she had the oddest feeling of familiarity and knowing… Then he roughly grabbed her shoulders and the moment vanished.
Shoving her against the dank stone dungeon walls, he branded her lips with his mouth; heat and fire and magic burning through her veins like potent alcohol. He was unforgiving and brutal, his kisses a punishment and his hand a vice restraining her against the wall. He tasted like sin and dark and love, and that was when the lights in her head grew brighter and brighter till it burst in a conflagration of colours and images.
In his pale eyes, she felt and saw worlds upon worlds: bloody battles by the sea, kissing by the moonlight, tumbling through the meadow, cosmic expanses of the starry sky, blood, tears, warfare, grey eyes the colour of rain and love love love.
A sharp pain lanced across her forehead and she fell to a heap, apparently no longer restrained. Vaguely she heard another moan of pain and a muffled thump not too far from her. The strange images were still running through her mind; bright lights were everywhere and then it went dark.
Ginny came to a few hours later with a throbbing headache. The stone floor was achingly hard beneath her and she was freezing. A glance to her side revealed that Draco was out cold, and it all came back to her: the argument she instigated, the kiss, and the dreams in her head. Bloody buggering fuck. She needed her bed. And if possible, some good bottles of Firewhisky.
They ended up never speaking of that night. In fact, they never spoke at all. All the detentions were over, so there really was no need for them to talk. Despite that mantra of hers, Ginny found herself looking out for him in the corridors, or sitting at the bench facing Slytherin during dinner so she could watch him eat. He never once came looking for her, never even so much as glanced in her direction. It was almost as though, to him, she no longer existed. And those dreadful thoughts were the cause of a whole chain of sleepless and alcohol-filled nights.
The dreams were still a regular occurrence, though not as frequently as before. That realisation was chilling, for it meant that Draco Malfoy had something to do with him. When they had detentions together, they appeared every night. When they kissed, the dreams appeared like a bloody prophetic vision. When they weren’t in contact with each other, the dreams eased off, coming only once in a few days. This, of course, led to more sleepless nights - some of which were spent at the Restricted Section of the library, ploughing through tomes and tomes of dusty ancient books for any information on dreams and visions.
Once, in a moment of weakness, she even owled him a seemingly inane note, ‘Dear Draco, haven’t spoken to you in a long time. How are you? The War is still going on, be careful and stay safe.’ It was a lot of words for all she was trying to say, which was ‘I miss you. I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry.’ Her owl came back with no reply. For the next few days, she had jumped up at every owl headed in her direction, only to have to tamp down on the bitter disappointment when there was nothing from Draco.
Her winter was thus spent vacillating between anger, hurt and acceptance. Then her bittersweet spring came and went. Now she knew better than to expect word from him; she supposed she was getting used to the hurt. There was a black hole inside of her, a grey emptiness so empty it coalesced into a corporeal void. She smiled but it looked painful, she laughed but it sounded distorted, she spoke but her words were empty. She found herself crying in the dark almost at least every fortnight, crying herself to sleep or waking up from frightening dreams of isolation and death with tears streaming down her face.
In a detached manner, she noticed the strange looks Harry and Ron kept giving her. She recognised Hermione’s attempt at being friendlier and more helpful with everything. She knew Harry went out of his way to spend time with her: walking her to her class, carrying her books for her, bringing her out for countless fun-filled Hogsmeade weekends. She smiled, she laughed, she talked - but beneath the façade, she was slowly and inexorably falling apart.
It was the beginning of summer that she finally found a lead. After sacrificing her sleep for three consecutive nights, it was with drooping eyes, the borrowed Invisibility Cloak (from Harry), and a single flickering candle, that she finally found what she had been looking for all these months.
Her exhausted eyes latched onto one word: souls.
Finish reading the story here...
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic: Going off the theme of nostalgia, the thing that originally drew me to D/G fics was the idea of them as star-crossed lovers. So I am requesting a fic that portrays this classic concept, but in a way that spans generations. In other words - I would like a fic that portrays Ginny and Draco as two old souls that have been attempting to be together for centuries, but each time they've met, outside forces have kept it from working out. It's up to you as to whether or not Ginny and/or Draco are aware of this "history" and if they are able to break the "curse" in the end.
The tone/mood of the fic: Unbridled passion and bittersweet
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: Show their first meeting/failed attempt to be together all those hundreds of years ago. And have this meeting be based off of Loreena McKennitt's song "The Highwayman" as closely as possible.
rating of the the fic you want: Anything but NC-17 (sex scenes are fine, but not explicitly graphic details)
Canon or AU? Either.
Rating: PG 13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Some angst
Author's Notes: I hope you guys like it! :) This is my first fanfic in 4, 5 years so I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Summary: Strange dreams plague Ginny, making her realise that there's more to Draco Malfoy than she knows, that love can indeed span centuries, and that death is never final.
Death Will Tremble (To Take Us)
I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.
Running. She is running towards the edge of the forest, skirts lifted and feet bare. Her breaths escape her in small wisps of smoke, disappearing into the moonlit night. The moon is full, a gleaming silver coin in the black sea of stars. It is sad and pale and full of mystery. Like his eyes. So much like his eyes.
She ducks into a clearing, their secret meeting place - wholly unaware that a pair of jealous eyes has watched her traverse across the grass, narrowing meanly when the shadow of a rider comes into view. Soon, the thud of hoof beats becomes apparent, and the trail of dust billows from beneath the horse, just as menacing as those of the Vikings.
Swiftly darting behind a gnarled tree, she smiles a sly smile as she hears the heavy thud of boots that signalled his dismount. There is a pause, and she knows he is looking for her through the shadowy woods. She imagines his handsome mien contorted with helpless frustration, and with that, a quiet giggle unconsciously escapes her.
He goes silent and still at once. And then, he gives a shuddering sigh of one struggling to rein in his impatience, “The night grows old, my love. Grant me a touch of your lips, for I must soon depart. ‘Tis a treasure I am after to-night, and I must make haste.”
She steps out of the shadows and into his waiting arms. His countenance softens and then his lips are burning hers - all liquid fire and trembling ice. It ends too soon, with his warmth lingering painfully on her lips as he leaps onto the saddle and prepares to ride off.
His mount whinnies impatiently, but he stills the animal with a touch. Eyeing her contemplatively, he says, “I should return before the morning light, but should they pursue me… Wait for me by the moonlight, my love. Wait for me, for I will come to thee.”
She nods. He looks frightening shadowed under the eerie moonlight, with his hooded eyes the colour of the moon and the shadow of him stark black melding into the night. With a final intense look, he tugs at the reins and gallops off into the night. She watches him till he is a speck in the dark distance.
The night passes into sunrise.
Then it is noon.
Sunset.
He still does not return, and her heart is sick with dread.
And then when the moon rises against the deep night, glowing like a pearl, she runs out towards the woods again, not noticing the moving shadows lurking. As she nears the woods, someone clamps down on her mouth and heaves her inside the darkness of the forest. Iron chains are tied around her wrists and rags are shoved into her mouth to silence her screams.
A shadow approaches her, lumbering in the dark. He is almost near enough to touch her when a small flame jumps up in the torch he is carrying, illuminating his scarred visage and cruel eyes. His armour is bulky and bloody - Vikings. He leers at her, and flinching, she turns to the side - only to lock eyes with the strange man whom her father had hired as the stable hands. Little wonder he is always skulking about her. Traitor.
“Where is your love to save you now? The moment he steps into the woods, ‘tis his end by fire - as is the same for thee.” The Viking grabs her chin to face him, and she cries out in muffled pain. His fat fingers dig into her throat, and she is gasping, choking, the world is spinning and she prays that her love, oh her sweet sweet love, will have no harm befall upon him.
Then, in the quiet of the night, there is a thudding of hooves approaching. Her aching throat is released, as all pause to listen. Through the trees, she spots the familiar shadow of her love and immediately, the pounding of her heart drowns out everything else. The Viking turns to her, cackling, and she knows that this trap of Vikings is for him and they mean to kill him and she can feel the rage burning in her bones, fire fire fire.
There must be some madness reflected in her eyes, for the Viking rears back, but ‘tis all too late.
All too late.
She hears hooves pounding, her heart pounding, her head throbbing with anger and in those precious seconds, she launches herself at the Viking, toppling the torch over onto the oil-soaked ground. With grim satisfaction, she watches the Vikings’ growing horror as the fire snakes around them in a deadly coil, burning and burning and burning with hungry abandon.
Her vision swims and she sees a vague shadow of him jumping off his mount and into the fire but ‘tis too late. There is a smell of burnt flesh but she only sees his fear and love and then all the consuming flames around her turn black.
*
I’d do anything for you.
*
Ginevra Weasley awoke with a start, panting heavily.
It was well past midnight and the night outside was calm and quiet. It was a sickening contrast to the anarchy in her mind. The dark, the fire, the fear… And at the same time, a purely overwhelming love - was that even what it was? - that reverberated through her at the thought of the mysterious man with those pale, pale eyes. Dreamy images of fire was still burning beneath her lids, but in her dorm, she was safe; there was no fire, only the thin veneer of quiet.
She supposed there ought to be a reason why all this nightmares started ever since she’d found herself stuck in detention with Draco Malfoy, of all people. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to care, to be honest. She was tired, and she wanted to get this two month’s long detention over and done with so she could get on with her life. She didn’t even care that it was Malfoy’s fault for landing them in detention; she just wanted it all to end.
That night, she hadn’t expected anyone to be up in the Astronomy Tower. She had just evaded Filch and crept up into the tower, unaware that the tall shadow overlooking the school grounds would jump on her, his fingers digging viciously into her throat, crushing the air in her lungs. Needless to say, she screamed and struggled for her life only to suck in sweet air when the shadow was hoisted off her by a bedraggled Filch. His hood had slipped off then, revealing his pale eyes that shone like the moon outside.
They had spent the first week of detention in tense silence, the edge palpable in the dank air. Their punishment was as follows: daily detention for a period of two months, during which they would replenish Madam Pomfrey’s store of healing potions together without any repetition of that night’s events whatsoever. This uneasy silence all came roaring to a halt when a seemingly insouciant Malfoy sauntered into the dungeons one day, disgustingly tossing his books onto the table and knocking over the brew she had been simmering for hours. She’d have hexed him into the next century had it not been for the fact that it would have been deemed a ‘repetition of that night’s events’, resulting in more detentions.
Wand in hand, she gritted her teeth and snarled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
When he didn’t even bother to respond, she continued, “You do know that it’s your fault that we’re in detention, yes? It’s your fault and -”
“If you hadn’t barged in and startled me, we wouldn’t be having sodding detention now,” snapped Malfoy finally.
She raised her voice up a notch, “It’s your bloody fault and not once -”
“How -”
“And not once, prior to this, have I even said anything about that night. Not once have I questioned you on why you were up there, not once have I asked why you deigned to attempt to strangle me to death, not bloody once have I even blamed you or complained about my being punished for being strangled in the dead of the night! I let you try to kill me, without demanding so much as an explanation in return. I would like an iota of respect, thank you very much!”
There was silence. He turned away from her then, and all she could glean from his profile was the almost sad downturn of his lips that seemed permanently present. The world froze and she saw his sunken cheeks, his drawn posture that never left. And she remembered the night he attacked her like he expected trouble, like he was in danger, like he was scared.
But then he turned to face her again and that world fell away. His expression was calm and composed, though his eyes told a different story.
“You do have it, you know,” he said conversationally, picking up the knife and starting to dice the ingredients of the potion expertly.
Sullenly, she glared, “Have what?”
“My respect.”
That had been a few days ago. Contrary to her expectations, nothing much had changed. Their detentions were still filled with silences - albeit more comfortable ones. There was no tension or tenuously controlled irritation on her part, and she noticed that his drawn shoulders were starting to relax a little more as well. Still, silence rang within the dungeons.
When evening came that day, she made her way down to the dungeons listlessly. It had not been a good day. Bad sleep the night before had her fumbling before Snape, who promptly gave her hell. McGonagall, who was having one of her irritable days, was not much better. All in all, it had been a rough day. She wanted was the quiet of her dorm, and preferably, the peace of sleep - although, peaceful sleep was something she rarely had these days.
Malfoy already had his cauldron bubbling when she walked in. He was early and was diligently slicing away at the ingredients. This was as good as Malfoy’s moods went, she supposed, though it did nothing to lift hers. He slanted a glance at her as she unceremoniously tossed her books on the table and fell back into her seat.
He whistled. “Well, well, well, look who finally decided to honour me with her presence?”
This was the first thing he chose to say to her in days? Unbelievable. “Sod off, Malfoy.”
“Someone has her knickers in a twist,” snickered Malfoy.
“You are-”
“I have good news for you, Weasley. In your irresponsible absence, I have taken it upon myself to prepare all the ingredients you need for the Dreamless Drought of yours. All you have to do now is to toss it all in, let it simmer and there you have it!”
“-such a wanker,” she finished lamely.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll have you know that I only did it so I wouldn’t have to suffer more detentions with you. You had better not start waxing poetry about my eyes or anything like that.”
She deliberately infused her tone with aversion. “You? Your eyes? Let me assure me, there’s nothing remarkably poetic on both counts.”
Malfoy sobered, casting a searching glance in her direction. Whatever he saw in her expression had his lips quirk into a smirk. She laughed then, and a peek at him told her his shoulders were quivering from trying to hold back his laughter. Forgetting all the troubles of the day, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh harder.
*
She has been his prisoner for more than six moons now.
Every dark, she watches the moon. There have been six full moons. It has been a long time. She has stopped trying to escape. Her family lies on the other side of the land, fighting a bloody war against the man she loves, against her captor. She does not know what to do. Summer has come and gone, and now autumn descends. It has been a long time. She does not know what to do.
She remembers when the bright sun shimmered in the blue sky, when wild flowers grew abundantly and the hills were decorated with lush green meadows. They would sit by the stream; stilted forced words at first, then it gave way to easy laughs and smiles. Swimming in the lake, the sunny laughter, the slick touches, the peace. Now it has grown dark and the leaves fall and the flowers wilt.
He always comes to her in the dark, and this night is no different. She hears the quiet shuffle of his footsteps, leans into him when he embraces her, kisses him back when he kisses her. To-night, he is quiet. There is no sound save for the steady rhythm of his breathing. Her mind is in anarchy but her heart is at peace. The night is quiet. The stars are bright, and the moon full and pale - like this eyes.
His voice is low and quiet when he speaks, “Do you miss them?”
“Aye, all the time.”
He is silent. Then, a hoarse desperate whisper, “What do we do?”
There is no language to express her answer. So she turns in his arms and kisses him. I love you I love my family why do we have to be enemies so much fighting so much blood must keep you safe this war will end us I cannot forsake you I love you I love you I love you.
“If fate was merciful, I would not be their leader and you would not be the daughter of my enemy. And w-we, we-”
Her lips are a prayer on his. “Hush, love.”
“Do you trust me?” Do you love me?
She hears the hidden question beneath his words. “Always.”
He does not speak, and pulls her through out of her chambers and through the castle with tearing speed. His face is a mask of determination and composure. She lets herself be tugged through the stone walls and into the stables. A stableman promptly hands him the reins of the fastest steeds. He has her saddled up before she knows it. His black steed trots away and hers follow.
“We are takin’ the passage through the woods. You will be with them by sunrise.”
Shock has her freezing in her saddle. “You are taking me back.”
“Aye.”
It is only when they finally enter the woods does she have the coherency of mind to speak. “W-why?”
There is a pause, and various emotions flicker through his face, highlighted in the moonlight. “Because I love you,” he says finally.
Anger courses through her. “This will no’ end the war,” she hisses.
“I will end it. And I will come back for you.”
“My love…” Whatever she has to say is cut off by an arrow whizzing past her and embedding itself into a tree.
His horse neighs in panic and slumps on the ground, with several arrows sticking out of its side. He is thrown off his horse. She screams, flying off her horse and onto the hard ground. There is a screaming pain in her leg is nothing compared to watching the way he draws his sword only to be shot down with numerous arrows. One to the neck. She is running towards him now, throwing herself over him, snarling at the shadows that reveal themselves to be his own men led by his traitorous second.
Ignoring the arrow in her leg, she picks up his sword and cleaves through one of the soldiers wandering too close. He dies in a conflagration of blood, screaming armour and torn flesh. That lets loose another hail of arrows but she kills another soldier that is touching her love.
Then her sight grows dim and she falls to his chest. His arms weakly cradle her head and she sees his second’s maniacal grinning face as she closes her eyes.
*
Ginny watched Malfoy through the glass windows of the library. It was a sunny late afternoon, and the school grounds were infinitely more interesting than her Charms essay. He walked with an easy grace, casting a bored glance at Harry, Ron and Hermione as he passed. They stared at his retreating back, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. He chose a tree by the lake, took out a book, and eyed the expanse of the shimmering waters before visibly sighing.
She found herself staring at him. The way his hair glowed like a halo, the constant downturn of his lips, his silver eyes that seemed to burn in the sunlight. His silver eyes that burned into hers.
Oh Merlin, she had been caught.
She had a funny feeling inside her.
But she could not look away.
His eyes seemed as depthless as the oceans, as encompassing as the skies. Then he gave her the barest of smiles before looking away, and that broke the spell. She was able to breathe again. Swallowing, she jumped to her feet, gathered her belongings and left. There was no way she could focus on her essay after that.
The second time it happened she was at the Great Hall having dinner. It had been nearly a month since their first detention; one more month to go. It had been a good week, despite the dreams. Ron was on her left, mumbling something with food in his mouth. Hermione was laughing and trying to dab at the food smear on his cheek. Harry… Harry was smiling at her and telling her about his day.
She smiled back and nodded, making the occasional appropriate remark here and there, letting him offer her various food and placing them on her plate. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione’s knowing look, and tamped down on how uncomfortable it made her.
But maybe, maybe Harry was for her because she knew him better than he knew himself and that was safety, right? He made her smile and laugh and would not break her heart even if he had it. Even if he only knew a shadow of her, even as he thought he knew her completely, even if his touch was bland bland bland. He was a good person, he would never hurt her and everyone liked him. She shouldn’t be such a hopeless romantic because that was what it was. Hopeless. And she would be stupid to hope for fire.
“What’s wrong, Gin?” Harry asked, expression creased with concern.
She forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Harry. Just a little tired.”
He nodded, and piled more food on her plate. She continued to eat, pausing to smile and nod at the right moments, and was rewarded with a brilliant grin from Harry. Slightly on edge, she stuffed some potatoes into her mouth and looked away, chewing gracelessly.
Her eyes wandered and fell on a familiar blonde - who was looking straight back at her. She stared back in surprise, her heart stilling in her chest. He smiled at her then, one that straddled both amusement and awkwardness. A few heartbeats passed and she found herself smiling back the best she could with her mouth full of potatoes. He had worlds in his eyes; it was a strange feeling rising, so she immediately turned away.
For some inexplicable reason, she walked around feeling lighter than she ever had in months. A week of detentions went by smoothly, and she was starting to get the feeling that the three more weeks of detention left was… inadequate. Still, she did not want to think about what he was to her. Whenever their eyes met and she smiled at him, the smile he’d return was not the smooth practiced smile meant for everyone. It was private, the awkward twisting of lips almost confused, shocked, and… happy?
He was always alone these days, Crabbe and Goyle nowhere to be seen. It was puzzling. So she casually asked him one day during detention, when they were brewing their draughts in companionable silence after an attempt at conversation turned slightly stilted.
“So, Malfoy, what happened to your friends? You don’t seem to be on very good terms with everyone recently.”
There was a pause in his stirring, and his hands shook slightly. His face, however, remained impassive. “We had an argument,” he said finally.
“You against every Slytherin?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” muttered Ginny. “Would if help if you apologised? Because, you know, you have the tendency of being quite a sod.”
He barked a harsh laugh. “If it makes me a sod for not apologising for letting every-fucking-body down by rejecting the Dark Mark, then so be it.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Was that why you were in the tower that night? It’s a good place to think. I like to go there on quiet nights just to, you know, be alone and think… It’s a beautiful place.”
From the way he turned away from her stiffly and went back to stirring the brew viciously, she knew the answer was a yes.
There was silence for a good hour - uncomfortable now - till Ginny decided to break it. “For what it’s worth, it was the right choice you made.”
“Coming from you, mudblood-lover?”
It hurt. More deeply than she thought it would. More than it should. Pride had her trying not to let it show. “Coming from your friend, Draco. Your friend who respects you for being you.”
He was angry now, the blaze evident in his eyes and the ice in his tone. He was harsh, sardonic… hurtful. “So if I really did accept the Dark Mark, and it was a part of me, would you respect me for being me then?”
She knew her answer would kill or remedy the situation entirely. But she was at a loss at what to say. “Well, I knew your father tossed me Riddle’s diary that made me open the Chamber of Secrets but I’ve still always been your friend, haven’t I?”
*
Privateer, he calls himself. She snorts, watching the waves roll by the speeding vessel. Pirate more like. The sea is rough today, and the biting wind threatens to blow her scarves away. It is cold, even as the sun shines brightly above them. It has been a long journey.
“Good morn,” the pirate says, coming to rest beside her. “I trust you slept well?”
“As well as I possibly can on a ship.”
“Love, this is the finest ship ever to sail the high seas,” he says indulgently. “Not to mention, my Captain’s cabin far surpasses any other cabin out there.”
“I would rather sleep in the cargo hold,” she mutters sourly.
He only gives her an amused smirk. “You say that all the time but I do not see you trying to escape my quarters… Seems like you cannot resist my charms, yes?” Her narrowed eyes do nothing to deter him. “Come with me, I want to show you the crow’s nest.”
The view from the crow’s nest is magnificent. Miles and miles of sea stretching out boundlessly. She sees various pods of whales and small icebergs. It is all passing like a dream until she spots dark shadows in the horizon. Quickly, she rouses the dozing pirate at her side. He wakes blearily, and his countenance turns menacing as he drags her down from the crow’s nest.
He turns to his first mate, waiting anxiously for his commands. “Mr Thaper, escort the lady to the engine room. It seems as though we have some pirate ships in our midst.”
She opens her mouth to protest but he cuts her off steadily. “Stay there, love.”
With that, he strides off, barking orders at his scrambling crew. The deck is chaotic, sailors dashing over to load the canons and hoist the colours. The ships she’d thought were shadows came drifting closer and closer into view, till she could see the various pirates at the helms of their vessels. Once inside the engine room - the most secure place on a ship - she leans onto a wall, concentrating on breathing deeply for a long while. There is a sinking feeling in her, a sense of foreboding that has her feeling slightly nauseous. Outside the engine room, the firing has started; she feels it in the dreadful shuddering and rocking of the ship.
There are sounds of screaming and dull groans coming from the ship permeate the engine room. She cannot bear it any longer, so she runs onto on deck and is horrified at the carnage everywhere.
Her pirate is covered in blood but furiously fighting three other pirates at once. She sees another sneaking up behind with a long dagger, and something feral overcomes her. Picking up a sword slick with blood, she rushes into the fray and kills him - at the same time, feeling like something icy and fiery stabbed through her.
He is beside her immediately, his horror almost palpable. She touches his face, smearing more blood on his cheek, and tries to smile. Then her eyes close.
*
We are both too wild, too proud, too full of fire and dark. I told you we’d wear each other out, burn each other till we just combust and self-destruct. And there would be nothing for you and me then.
For us. No matter how much we burn each other, there’s always a us.
*
Draco barged into the dungeons looking a little worse for wear. It was their last detention, and she’d been strangely nervous about it. Barely sparing her a glance, he swooped down and vigorously starting working on his potion like his life depended on it. The minutes stretched by, and there was no sound save for his furious stirring and slicing.
“Is… something wrong?” She ventured eventually, sounding more timid than casual.
“Does something have to be wrong?” He snapped, crushing the beetles with unwarranted violence.
Ginny wisely kept silent and focussed on her work. A strange vulnerable feeling was welling up in her, a defensive mechanism that had her wanting to leave the dungeons and never have to come into close proximity with him again. She was… hurt. Merlin, of all sodding things to be feeling, she was hurt. Bugger. “My brother was right, you’re a slimy ferret. And I was wrong to think you were more than that.”
He gave no indication that he heard her.
Something was clawing its way out of her, a vindictive streak that had her wanting him to hurt him back, to hurt him so she’d feel less powerless. “What’s wrong? The Dark Lord gave you another chance but you were too much of a coward to take him up on his offer?”
That had his bloody attention.
He turned to face her then, hands trembling with suppressed violence. “Don’t speak of things you know nothing about,” said Draco through gritted teeth.
“But I do know! I know your family wants you to be Voldemort’s right-hand man. I know you don’t want to, and because of that, your father has disowned you. I know how much that affects you, even if you don’t let it show. I know you try to appear cold and heartless when you really are not. Tsk, all that pride.”
“Shut. Up.”
“I’m right then, no?” She laughed, mocking. “I also know you don’t actually hate me but it will be a secret you’d take to your grave.”
He was right in her face now, tremulous with barely concealed rage. His eyes had darkened like storm clouds, and for a brief moment, Ginny’s fury froze and she had the oddest feeling of familiarity and knowing… Then he roughly grabbed her shoulders and the moment vanished.
Shoving her against the dank stone dungeon walls, he branded her lips with his mouth; heat and fire and magic burning through her veins like potent alcohol. He was unforgiving and brutal, his kisses a punishment and his hand a vice restraining her against the wall. He tasted like sin and dark and love, and that was when the lights in her head grew brighter and brighter till it burst in a conflagration of colours and images.
In his pale eyes, she felt and saw worlds upon worlds: bloody battles by the sea, kissing by the moonlight, tumbling through the meadow, cosmic expanses of the starry sky, blood, tears, warfare, grey eyes the colour of rain and love love love.
A sharp pain lanced across her forehead and she fell to a heap, apparently no longer restrained. Vaguely she heard another moan of pain and a muffled thump not too far from her. The strange images were still running through her mind; bright lights were everywhere and then it went dark.
Ginny came to a few hours later with a throbbing headache. The stone floor was achingly hard beneath her and she was freezing. A glance to her side revealed that Draco was out cold, and it all came back to her: the argument she instigated, the kiss, and the dreams in her head. Bloody buggering fuck. She needed her bed. And if possible, some good bottles of Firewhisky.
They ended up never speaking of that night. In fact, they never spoke at all. All the detentions were over, so there really was no need for them to talk. Despite that mantra of hers, Ginny found herself looking out for him in the corridors, or sitting at the bench facing Slytherin during dinner so she could watch him eat. He never once came looking for her, never even so much as glanced in her direction. It was almost as though, to him, she no longer existed. And those dreadful thoughts were the cause of a whole chain of sleepless and alcohol-filled nights.
The dreams were still a regular occurrence, though not as frequently as before. That realisation was chilling, for it meant that Draco Malfoy had something to do with him. When they had detentions together, they appeared every night. When they kissed, the dreams appeared like a bloody prophetic vision. When they weren’t in contact with each other, the dreams eased off, coming only once in a few days. This, of course, led to more sleepless nights - some of which were spent at the Restricted Section of the library, ploughing through tomes and tomes of dusty ancient books for any information on dreams and visions.
Once, in a moment of weakness, she even owled him a seemingly inane note, ‘Dear Draco, haven’t spoken to you in a long time. How are you? The War is still going on, be careful and stay safe.’ It was a lot of words for all she was trying to say, which was ‘I miss you. I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry.’ Her owl came back with no reply. For the next few days, she had jumped up at every owl headed in her direction, only to have to tamp down on the bitter disappointment when there was nothing from Draco.
Her winter was thus spent vacillating between anger, hurt and acceptance. Then her bittersweet spring came and went. Now she knew better than to expect word from him; she supposed she was getting used to the hurt. There was a black hole inside of her, a grey emptiness so empty it coalesced into a corporeal void. She smiled but it looked painful, she laughed but it sounded distorted, she spoke but her words were empty. She found herself crying in the dark almost at least every fortnight, crying herself to sleep or waking up from frightening dreams of isolation and death with tears streaming down her face.
In a detached manner, she noticed the strange looks Harry and Ron kept giving her. She recognised Hermione’s attempt at being friendlier and more helpful with everything. She knew Harry went out of his way to spend time with her: walking her to her class, carrying her books for her, bringing her out for countless fun-filled Hogsmeade weekends. She smiled, she laughed, she talked - but beneath the façade, she was slowly and inexorably falling apart.
It was the beginning of summer that she finally found a lead. After sacrificing her sleep for three consecutive nights, it was with drooping eyes, the borrowed Invisibility Cloak (from Harry), and a single flickering candle, that she finally found what she had been looking for all these months.
Her exhausted eyes latched onto one word: souls.
Finish reading the story here...
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
Briefly describe what you'd like to receive in your fic: Going off the theme of nostalgia, the thing that originally drew me to D/G fics was the idea of them as star-crossed lovers. So I am requesting a fic that portrays this classic concept, but in a way that spans generations. In other words - I would like a fic that portrays Ginny and Draco as two old souls that have been attempting to be together for centuries, but each time they've met, outside forces have kept it from working out. It's up to you as to whether or not Ginny and/or Draco are aware of this "history" and if they are able to break the "curse" in the end.
The tone/mood of the fic: Unbridled passion and bittersweet
An element/line of dialogue/object you would specifically like in your fic: Show their first meeting/failed attempt to be together all those hundreds of years ago. And have this meeting be based off of Loreena McKennitt's song "The Highwayman" as closely as possible.
rating of the the fic you want: Anything but NC-17 (sex scenes are fine, but not explicitly graphic details)
Canon or AU? Either.