fallenwitch wrote 'Where the Hell Is She?' for aliah_carina
Title: Where The Hell Is She?
Author: fallenwitch
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Draco with a bit of a potty mouth here. Please slow down and turn around if this type of language offends. Thanks.
Summary: Post-War England. Draco and Ginny. There are some things you can't leave behind.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Marcia (dragonlilleth) for the awesome beta and a special thanks to Phae (7veilsphaedra) for troubleshooting this fic. For various reasons, I had to dig deep for this one. I hope you enjoy it.
Beta: Marcia (dragonlilleth)
"Where the hell is she?" he yelled, throwing open the door to the cramped headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Well, what was left of the Order three years after the end of the War. Tonks looked up from her late supper, take-out Chinese with noodles dangling from her mouth, chopsticks in hand.
"Lost her again, have you?"
His furious eyes scoured the deserted room.
"Fuck it."
He stormed down the hall to their claustrophobic cell of an office, blew the door open and started rifling through her desk, trying to figure out why she left him hanging outside Hogsmeade with five Death Eaters on his tail and nobody watching his back. What a dangerous, unreliable, irresponsible, crazy arse wench of a partner. What was she trying to do, get him killed?
He stopped, looked up at the lopsided calendar hanging off the wall and put down the load of parchment in his hands.
Minutes later, he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Muggle pub and stepped inside, staring at her from across the smoke-filled, dimly lit room. Her nose was buried in some concoction of Muggle toxins, that distinctive brazen red hair covering half her face, but it didn’t matter. He would recognize her across any crowded room, anywhere in the world.
"Malfoy," she said coolly, glaring at him as he slid into the bench opposite her. "I don't remember inviting you to this private party so I can only surmise that you're stalking me again."
He glanced up at her while brushing off crumbs from his side of the table, "Well, I wouldn't have chosen this stinking hole of a pub on my own."
"Go away. Shoo. Go run along and play with your psychopathic Death Eating friends." Her hand was in his face, waving in an exaggerated fashion.
He sighed and plucked the half-empty tumbler out of her other hand. "That's enough for one evening. Let's go."
She watched in horror as her drink went bye-bye. In an effort to retrieve it, she leaned forward and let loose an uncoordinated swipe of her hand. When that reconnaissance failed, she stuck her nose in his face and taunted the former Death Eater, "What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't find another Weasley to torture, maim or kill?"
He froze, took an unsteady breath and felt his body tense. "Weasley," he cautioned, "don't go there."
She placed a hand against her chest as her eyes went wide in feigned surprise. "Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. I had forgotten. You weren't really the one who killed him, were you?"
"Weasley..." he warned, ready to spring on her, intoxicated or not.
She leapt up, her furious face towering over his, "Did he know which side you were on when he died? You bastard!"
"Screw this." Draco grabbed his jacket. He was fast but she was faster. She had her hands on his shirt in tight fists, yanking him towards her.
"Don’t you bloody walk away from me, Malfoy."
"You're drunk, stinking, filthy drunk, Weasley. Get your hands off of me. "
"No!" she yelled, reaching for her wand.
Draco lunged forward and grabbed her hand. "Not here, you idiot!" he hissed in her ear. "You want to hex me? Fine. Let's take this someplace else. The last thing we need is the goddamn Ministry on our arses."
Infuriated, he grabbed her hand and dragged her stumbling, inebriated bum out of the pub, down the crowded pavement and into a deserted alleyway where he shoved her up against the cold, brick wall and leaned into her. "Go on. Hex me, Weasley, but don't be surprised if I defend myself."
It was dark, so dark she could barely see his face outlined in silhouette against the distant streetlamps, but she could feel the fury rippling through his rigid body, immobilizing hers.
She closed her eyes and whispered, "I hate you, Malfoy. I hate every Death Eating cell in your disgusting, malformed body." Then she slumped against the wall in defeat and shook her head. "I may be drunk but I'm not daft. I can't take you on in this condition."
Well, that was the first reasonable thing she had said all evening. "Let's go, Weasley."
"Go where?"
"Someplace safe." Before she could protest and fight him in her usual pigheaded manner, he wrapped his arms around her and swiftly Disapparated them.
Their feet touched down and he released her, watching as she staggered about. "Oh." Her relief at being deposited in her home was soon replaced by suspicion. "Why do you care if I'm safe or not?"
He sighed, "Because it's my job, Weasley, that's why. It's my fucking job to look after your pathetic, drunken arse."
She stuck her freckled nose up in the air, turned around and stumbled down the hall.
----- ----- -----
Three years and a half years prior, he exploded out of the War a changed wizard, hardened and angry and animalistic in his need to survive. He had been at the epicenter the disaster breaking like a wave across the wizarding world until it drowned his family and broke his beliefs and crushed every hope he ever held. He'd emerged out of the putrid labyrinth as soiled as the next wizard, Death Eater or not, more dead than alive until the day she walked back into his life.
In the middle of a blown out Diagon Alley, deserted and reeking with the stench of death and misfortune and better days, he stumbled into her arms, emotionally numbed and starving, and collapsed.
He kept his promise. He came for her at the end of the War. When he walked across that cursed alleyway and into her arms, she was reborn. She couldn't name it then, but her heart knew what he was to her. It would always know.
----- ----- -----
Two months after the pub incident, the ancient stone door stood ajar. Drifts of pristine snow covered the roof and nestled against the side of the primeval structure. She removed the hood of her winter cloak and stepped inside. Burning torchlight drenched the walls and scattered the unnatural chill, splashing a brilliant freckled sheen throughout.
"Draco." The resonating echo of her words shattered the still air.
He looked up from his marble throne at his mother's feet, met her gaze and turned away.
She went to him and knelt before his hunkered down form and his bottle of Firewhiskey. "Draco," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm with her gloved fingertips.
He flinched at her poisonous touch, at the retched sound of his name on her lips, at her blasphemous presence.
"Leave," he hissed, his eyes fixed on the scuffed tip of his boot, on his shattered heart, on his darkened soul. What kind of a traitorous Malfoy was he?
"I won't leave without you. Night is falling."
"Since when did you give a damn?"
"I won't leave you alone. It's too dangerous."
"Out!" he roared, grabbing her by the arm and hauling them both up. "Get out!" He shoved her towards the door.
She stumbled forward, stopped, turned around and headed back to him. "Getting yourself killed won't bring her back," she spat out.
"I loathe you, Weasley," he hissed, his rage-filled face in hers. "I loathe your filthy ways and your despicable excuse for morals and your cheap way with men." This time he grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and dragged her bodily through the sacred space before tossing her out on her bum.
She whipped out her wand and scrambled to her feet. "Don't make me hex you again, Malfoy."
"Who the fuck do you think you are, Weasley?"
"We've been through this before. You're too damn drunk to know what you're saying."
He tossed the bottle of Firewhiskey aside. It hit the ground, splashing the toxic amber liquid on the snow.
"Don't do it, Malfoy," she cautioned, watching his hands.
"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice choking with grief and anguish and guilt. "Why did you take her from me? How could you take her from me?"
"Malfoy... don't."
He withdrew his wand.
"Malfoy..."
"I ought to Avada your arse six feet under and declare a day of independence from your endless bullshit."
Before he could raise his wand, she struck. He was on the ground a moment later. She stood over his unconscious form, plucked his wand from his hand and tucked it into her cloak pocket. "I told you not to pull that shite on me again."
----- ----- -----
Without her, he is not sure he exists. She gives him a reason to go on, a purpose to his nihilistic existence, an impetus to get up in the morning and to give enough of a shite about the future of their world to get his arse out and fight for it. Without her, he would spiral out of control with nothing to tether him. A wizard could spend ten lifetimes adrift among the ruins of the war, only to end up drowning in shallow water. The compass that guided him all his life is broken. She is his beautiful northern star, the only thing of beauty left in his life.
----- ----- -----
The next day he awoke a guest to his own crucifixion. The searing morning light sank into his eyes, pounding his brain and rattling the unsteady bones in his body. He hauled his arse off the sofa and dragged it to the loo, groaning all the way. After a vial of anti-hangover potion, he stumbled into the shower, praying for his usual resurrection. Minutes later, he stared at his pale reflection with his newly restored sanity peering over his shoulder.
Exiting the bathroom, he tiptoed down the hall and tested the door. It was unlocked. He peered inside, looked around and let himself in. She awoke as he was crawling into bed.
"Draco?" she murmured, looking over at the freshly washed Slytherin.
He slid in next to her, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the nape of her neck.
"Are you okay?"
He nodded, not moving from her, only holding her tighter.
"It's alright, Draco. I'm not dead yet."
He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the conflicting nightmares in his life. When he muttered something into her neck, she leaned back.
"What?"
He looked up, his iridescent grey eyes staring into her unflinching dark ones. "I love you."
"I know."
"I almost killed you," he said.
She sighed and stroked the side of his face, morning stubble and all. "Killing me won't end your guilt or stop your self-hatred. There's no free ride here for either of us, Draco." She pushed him aside and rose out of bed. He heard the bathroom door close.
Rolling over, he landed face first on her side of the bed, in her warmth and her scent and her. Her. He grabbed her pillow and held on tight.
An hour later, they were standing side-by-side ready to Apparate to work. He turned to her, "Any other anniversaries coming up?"
"Ours. Three years next Friday."
He reached back for her hand. "Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Malfoy."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: A dark post-war fic where even though one side won the war, no one really won at all. A pyrrhic victory that has become a hell of sorts. However, something happens between Draco and Ginny. That's up to the writer what it is exactly
The tone/mood of the fic: Dark, angsty, during or post-war.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: UST, rejection, forgiveness. Pick one/two/all.
Canon or AU? Canon
Rating of the the fic you want: G-R
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No smut this time. Extreme fluff is a complete deal breaker.
Author: fallenwitch
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Draco with a bit of a potty mouth here. Please slow down and turn around if this type of language offends. Thanks.
Summary: Post-War England. Draco and Ginny. There are some things you can't leave behind.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Marcia (dragonlilleth) for the awesome beta and a special thanks to Phae (7veilsphaedra) for troubleshooting this fic. For various reasons, I had to dig deep for this one. I hope you enjoy it.
Beta: Marcia (dragonlilleth)
"Where the hell is she?" he yelled, throwing open the door to the cramped headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Well, what was left of the Order three years after the end of the War. Tonks looked up from her late supper, take-out Chinese with noodles dangling from her mouth, chopsticks in hand.
"Lost her again, have you?"
His furious eyes scoured the deserted room.
"Fuck it."
He stormed down the hall to their claustrophobic cell of an office, blew the door open and started rifling through her desk, trying to figure out why she left him hanging outside Hogsmeade with five Death Eaters on his tail and nobody watching his back. What a dangerous, unreliable, irresponsible, crazy arse wench of a partner. What was she trying to do, get him killed?
He stopped, looked up at the lopsided calendar hanging off the wall and put down the load of parchment in his hands.
Minutes later, he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Muggle pub and stepped inside, staring at her from across the smoke-filled, dimly lit room. Her nose was buried in some concoction of Muggle toxins, that distinctive brazen red hair covering half her face, but it didn’t matter. He would recognize her across any crowded room, anywhere in the world.
"Malfoy," she said coolly, glaring at him as he slid into the bench opposite her. "I don't remember inviting you to this private party so I can only surmise that you're stalking me again."
He glanced up at her while brushing off crumbs from his side of the table, "Well, I wouldn't have chosen this stinking hole of a pub on my own."
"Go away. Shoo. Go run along and play with your psychopathic Death Eating friends." Her hand was in his face, waving in an exaggerated fashion.
He sighed and plucked the half-empty tumbler out of her other hand. "That's enough for one evening. Let's go."
She watched in horror as her drink went bye-bye. In an effort to retrieve it, she leaned forward and let loose an uncoordinated swipe of her hand. When that reconnaissance failed, she stuck her nose in his face and taunted the former Death Eater, "What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't find another Weasley to torture, maim or kill?"
He froze, took an unsteady breath and felt his body tense. "Weasley," he cautioned, "don't go there."
She placed a hand against her chest as her eyes went wide in feigned surprise. "Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. I had forgotten. You weren't really the one who killed him, were you?"
"Weasley..." he warned, ready to spring on her, intoxicated or not.
She leapt up, her furious face towering over his, "Did he know which side you were on when he died? You bastard!"
"Screw this." Draco grabbed his jacket. He was fast but she was faster. She had her hands on his shirt in tight fists, yanking him towards her.
"Don’t you bloody walk away from me, Malfoy."
"You're drunk, stinking, filthy drunk, Weasley. Get your hands off of me. "
"No!" she yelled, reaching for her wand.
Draco lunged forward and grabbed her hand. "Not here, you idiot!" he hissed in her ear. "You want to hex me? Fine. Let's take this someplace else. The last thing we need is the goddamn Ministry on our arses."
Infuriated, he grabbed her hand and dragged her stumbling, inebriated bum out of the pub, down the crowded pavement and into a deserted alleyway where he shoved her up against the cold, brick wall and leaned into her. "Go on. Hex me, Weasley, but don't be surprised if I defend myself."
It was dark, so dark she could barely see his face outlined in silhouette against the distant streetlamps, but she could feel the fury rippling through his rigid body, immobilizing hers.
She closed her eyes and whispered, "I hate you, Malfoy. I hate every Death Eating cell in your disgusting, malformed body." Then she slumped against the wall in defeat and shook her head. "I may be drunk but I'm not daft. I can't take you on in this condition."
Well, that was the first reasonable thing she had said all evening. "Let's go, Weasley."
"Go where?"
"Someplace safe." Before she could protest and fight him in her usual pigheaded manner, he wrapped his arms around her and swiftly Disapparated them.
Their feet touched down and he released her, watching as she staggered about. "Oh." Her relief at being deposited in her home was soon replaced by suspicion. "Why do you care if I'm safe or not?"
He sighed, "Because it's my job, Weasley, that's why. It's my fucking job to look after your pathetic, drunken arse."
She stuck her freckled nose up in the air, turned around and stumbled down the hall.
----- ----- -----
Three years and a half years prior, he exploded out of the War a changed wizard, hardened and angry and animalistic in his need to survive. He had been at the epicenter the disaster breaking like a wave across the wizarding world until it drowned his family and broke his beliefs and crushed every hope he ever held. He'd emerged out of the putrid labyrinth as soiled as the next wizard, Death Eater or not, more dead than alive until the day she walked back into his life.
In the middle of a blown out Diagon Alley, deserted and reeking with the stench of death and misfortune and better days, he stumbled into her arms, emotionally numbed and starving, and collapsed.
He kept his promise. He came for her at the end of the War. When he walked across that cursed alleyway and into her arms, she was reborn. She couldn't name it then, but her heart knew what he was to her. It would always know.
----- ----- -----
Two months after the pub incident, the ancient stone door stood ajar. Drifts of pristine snow covered the roof and nestled against the side of the primeval structure. She removed the hood of her winter cloak and stepped inside. Burning torchlight drenched the walls and scattered the unnatural chill, splashing a brilliant freckled sheen throughout.
"Draco." The resonating echo of her words shattered the still air.
He looked up from his marble throne at his mother's feet, met her gaze and turned away.
She went to him and knelt before his hunkered down form and his bottle of Firewhiskey. "Draco," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm with her gloved fingertips.
He flinched at her poisonous touch, at the retched sound of his name on her lips, at her blasphemous presence.
"Leave," he hissed, his eyes fixed on the scuffed tip of his boot, on his shattered heart, on his darkened soul. What kind of a traitorous Malfoy was he?
"I won't leave without you. Night is falling."
"Since when did you give a damn?"
"I won't leave you alone. It's too dangerous."
"Out!" he roared, grabbing her by the arm and hauling them both up. "Get out!" He shoved her towards the door.
She stumbled forward, stopped, turned around and headed back to him. "Getting yourself killed won't bring her back," she spat out.
"I loathe you, Weasley," he hissed, his rage-filled face in hers. "I loathe your filthy ways and your despicable excuse for morals and your cheap way with men." This time he grabbed her by the scruff of her robes and dragged her bodily through the sacred space before tossing her out on her bum.
She whipped out her wand and scrambled to her feet. "Don't make me hex you again, Malfoy."
"Who the fuck do you think you are, Weasley?"
"We've been through this before. You're too damn drunk to know what you're saying."
He tossed the bottle of Firewhiskey aside. It hit the ground, splashing the toxic amber liquid on the snow.
"Don't do it, Malfoy," she cautioned, watching his hands.
"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice choking with grief and anguish and guilt. "Why did you take her from me? How could you take her from me?"
"Malfoy... don't."
He withdrew his wand.
"Malfoy..."
"I ought to Avada your arse six feet under and declare a day of independence from your endless bullshit."
Before he could raise his wand, she struck. He was on the ground a moment later. She stood over his unconscious form, plucked his wand from his hand and tucked it into her cloak pocket. "I told you not to pull that shite on me again."
----- ----- -----
Without her, he is not sure he exists. She gives him a reason to go on, a purpose to his nihilistic existence, an impetus to get up in the morning and to give enough of a shite about the future of their world to get his arse out and fight for it. Without her, he would spiral out of control with nothing to tether him. A wizard could spend ten lifetimes adrift among the ruins of the war, only to end up drowning in shallow water. The compass that guided him all his life is broken. She is his beautiful northern star, the only thing of beauty left in his life.
----- ----- -----
The next day he awoke a guest to his own crucifixion. The searing morning light sank into his eyes, pounding his brain and rattling the unsteady bones in his body. He hauled his arse off the sofa and dragged it to the loo, groaning all the way. After a vial of anti-hangover potion, he stumbled into the shower, praying for his usual resurrection. Minutes later, he stared at his pale reflection with his newly restored sanity peering over his shoulder.
Exiting the bathroom, he tiptoed down the hall and tested the door. It was unlocked. He peered inside, looked around and let himself in. She awoke as he was crawling into bed.
"Draco?" she murmured, looking over at the freshly washed Slytherin.
He slid in next to her, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the nape of her neck.
"Are you okay?"
He nodded, not moving from her, only holding her tighter.
"It's alright, Draco. I'm not dead yet."
He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the conflicting nightmares in his life. When he muttered something into her neck, she leaned back.
"What?"
He looked up, his iridescent grey eyes staring into her unflinching dark ones. "I love you."
"I know."
"I almost killed you," he said.
She sighed and stroked the side of his face, morning stubble and all. "Killing me won't end your guilt or stop your self-hatred. There's no free ride here for either of us, Draco." She pushed him aside and rose out of bed. He heard the bathroom door close.
Rolling over, he landed face first on her side of the bed, in her warmth and her scent and her. Her. He grabbed her pillow and held on tight.
An hour later, they were standing side-by-side ready to Apparate to work. He turned to her, "Any other anniversaries coming up?"
"Ours. Three years next Friday."
He reached back for her hand. "Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Malfoy."
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: A dark post-war fic where even though one side won the war, no one really won at all. A pyrrhic victory that has become a hell of sorts. However, something happens between Draco and Ginny. That's up to the writer what it is exactly
The tone/mood of the fic: Dark, angsty, during or post-war.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: UST, rejection, forgiveness. Pick one/two/all.
Canon or AU? Canon
Rating of the the fic you want: G-R
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No smut this time. Extreme fluff is a complete deal breaker.