Black Alnair wrote 'And the Twilight Sounds' for elle_blessing
Title: And the Twilight Sounds (Part 3&4)
Author: Black Alnair
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Books 1-6
Summary: The ghosts that haunt Ginny Weasley after the Second War lead her to Sierra Leone where she seeks escape but instead, learns of hope and the endurance of innocence from the unlikely figure of Draco Malfoy. Excerpt: “Ginny lets out a sigh and turns to face her savior. But they are close and he is a tall. She has to lean back to see the stubble on his chin but it is his lips that her eyes fixate on. There is something familiar about their sensuousness.”
Author's Notes: I think I did a fair amount of research on Sierra Leone for this fic (look at the appendix! I read fact sheets, news articles and even blogs and of course, looked at a lot of pretty pictures), but any inaccuracies are entirely my own and my betas are in no way accountable for them. Speaking of my wonderful betas (dragonlilleth, fallenwitch and jandjsalmon), I am infinitely grateful for all the help they’ve given me. And furthermore, thanks to the person who requested the prompt! It really inspired me and I can only hope you like this!
Betas: dragonlilleth, fallenwitch, jandjsalmon
( Part 1&2 )
Part III - And the Twilight Sounds
Rainy Season in Sierra Leone
Children at Play
It is twilight when the rains stop, the skies clear and the sound of water dripping off the tree branches in the dark echo throughout the island. Ginny is still soaking wet from the squall that hit while they were in the river. And there are splinters in the palms of her hands from holding onto the sides of the boat tightly. This is how Ginny knows there is still Gryffindor in her. Because how easy would it have been to just let go? To be swept and swallowed by this force of nature? But she can’t. She couldn’t. Just let go.
Not until Draco Malfoy offered her his hand. He still did not look her in the eye as he put it out for her, but she gratefully took it.
***
The boat rocks in the now turbulent waters and she can hardly see beyond the endless grey sheet of rain. She is gripping onto the side of the canoe though it hurts with the splintered wood digging into her palms. She does not let go but then Draco thrusts his hand under her nose. She takes it and climbs out into the surprisingly cool water. It reaches her waist and rises around her in chaotic breaks.
She wants to clutch onto Draco the way she used to hold onto her father when she was a little girl. But she is no longer that girl. And she doesn’t know if she wants to be again. In any case, Draco has the canoe lashed to him and just holding her hand is adding to his problems.
They fight the current as they move towards the shore, the canoe bumping into them as they take two steps forward and slide three back.
She does not realize they are on solid ground until she is suddenly standing under a grove of thin tall trees. There are other people there but she cannot see. The rain is still in her eyes and it is dark. She can hear voices and she knows they are speaking in Krio but she cannot understand. She is essentially blind and deaf and she tightens her hold on Draco’s hand reflexively.
There is a delay. But he squeezes back.
Then flashes of orange light up the shadows and she sees dots move across her field of vision. They have lighted up torches or lanterns or something but her eyes still need to adjust. And when she blinks a few times, she can finally make out a boy. Thin. Dark. Young. Maybe six or seven. He is running towards Draco.
Draco tugs at her hand and she turns her gaze towards him. “This is the face of war that I know,” he says to her. He must mean the boy. Who has no arms.
Draco lets go of her hand and takes the few steps that separate him from the running child. He scoops him up into his strong arms. “Kushe padi, he says, smiling at the boy who smiles back at him while the thunder claps above.
*Kushe padi: “hello friend”
***
She is picking at her hands. She can feel the splinters but she cannot see them even though by now the sky has cleared and the moon is high. The forest continues to drip-drip in the twilight and the sound of Krio seems to roll over the island like it has always belonged there. And there is something else that is new and strange and she only hears it occasionally. It breaks the usual stream of sound that is this place. And there it is again. She looks up as she hears the children laughing. And she peers into the darkness and sees their outlines. Then someone much taller, with narrow shoulders and white-blond hair that catches what little light there is, emerges from the shadows. She can tell he has reached out and ruffled a boy’s hair.
He comes towards her and she looks down at her hands again. He stands for a while - looking, she is sure, at something she does not see - before he sits down beside her and takes one of her hands between his own. He examines and pokes the splinters, causing her to flinch a little. “Silly duck.”
And it is such an odd phrase for him to say that she giggles a little.
“Why did you hold on?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid,” she concedes.
“I would've fished you out. Don't you have faith in anything?”
Have faith in him? She does not know.
“Well, do you?” he repeats as he peers at her damaged hands.
“I don't know.”
“You should. How can you keep going on if you don't have faith in something?”
“What do you have faith in?” she asks curiously.
He looks down at her hand and pulls a splinter from her palm with practiced ease. It stings a little but not much. “I have faith...” - and here he looks back up at her - “in this place.”
Though he sounds sincere, she has to wonder if he isn’t being at least a bit disingenuous. Having been dragged through dirt and water for the past two days, she tries not to make a face when she asks, “Why do you like it here?” Draco is much better at keeping his face neutral. If he wants to.
“At first...” He seems to be thinking carefully of his response. A first. At first. “Because here, I learned the world was unfair. Not just for me. But for everyone.”
And though she cannot see his face, she can hear the smile in his voice when he says. “And now, for its innocence.”
“Innocence?” She thinks of all those lost limbs and she does not know what he means. She shakes her head. “Innocence does not last.”
“No,” he agrees and he is looking directly into her eyes. She can see their silver ring even in the dark. “But what does? Isn't everything swept away with time? But it keeps coming back. There will always be a new generation or a new way of looking at the world. Innocence” - and he points at the cluster of kids laughing as they kick around a football amongst the trees - “it will find you.”
They are silent for a moment before he tilts his head towards the ball again. “Contraband. Stuff you’re not suppose to import. I do like to dally on the other side of the law,” he says quite seriously. Though, maybe it is a joke. She wishes he would wiggle his eyebrows or something to let her know. But then, maybe he is not joking. And he would look silly wiggling his eyebrows anyway.
“Smuggling footballs?” she queries.
“Well, a football.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “It’s not really illegal anymore but no one thinks of bringing things for the kids. Tobias thought I was just wasting money I didn’t have.”
“Tobias runs errands for you?” She asks quizzically. He is finally talking, for whatever reason, and she cannot turn down an opportunity to unravel the mystery that is Draco Malfoy.
“I suppose you can say he is our gopher,” he smirks but this expression fades when he heaves a sigh. “But we’re actually getting the raw end of the deal and there’s no way around that. Very few people are willing to travel to Sierra Leone at this time” - and he looks pointedly at her - “and help us get what we need out here. We pay him far more than he should be paid to transport the necessary items and get the proper clearance. He then spends it all on girls and drinks. At least he spends it here. Goes back to the economy, I suppose.”
Ginny makes a face. She remembers those tall beautiful girls. Girls. She tries to keep her voice neutral when she states, “But you’re not just getting him to transport footballs.”
“No, it’s mostly crutches, dissembled parts of wheelchairs and malaria pills,” he verifies. “During the war here, many of the rebels hacked off the limbs of civilians. Mostly women and children. Hell, many of the people who wielded the axes were children themselves.”
He recites this information like it is a tired fact. His voice is neutral, but there is something in the set of his jaw that tells her he feels anything but indifferent about this war.
War. War. War. It pounds in her head.
They sit silent for some minutes as he takes out the splinters in her hands. His touch is delicate and feather light and Ginny finds herself holding her breath as he works.
Finally, she cannot resist. “How did you end up here, Malfoy? How did you move from one war to another?”
He does not answer her at first and she thinks he will not answer but then he heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit as though heavy with the weight of memories. “It’s not like I meant to come here. I just wanted to forget the war. Forget everything. And I thought I could run from it. And I was daft enough to leave my wand behind. Or lose it. I don’t remember. Anyway, I took Muggle transportation across all of Europe and ended up in Turkey, hungry, dirty” - and he says this in a way that probably only a Malfoy can - “and with nowhere to go.”
He peers into the darkness but his hands are still holding hers. Warm in the cooling night. “Ayodele,” he whispers and it is soft and different from his usually harsh tone. “She was this young doctor - a Muggle healer, you know - that I met in the bazaar. I thought she was mad. She and a bunch of other doctors had moved from war zone to war zone across the entire bloody globe. It seemed like they were chasing war.”
“But, when she came to Africa,” he says, shrugging a little, “I came with her.”
He does not say anymore and Ginny wonders if she should ask. Ask what? If he had ever been in love? If he is in love? The thought makes her stomach clench and she wants to ignore it but she can’t. So she asks. “What is she doing now?”
“Now?” he laughs but there is no humor in it. “Nothing. She’s dead.”
“Oh, I - ” And she does not know what to say. She thinks that maybe she knows how he feels. And she does not mean to say it but it comes out anyway. “How do you move on?”
Of course, she does not mean move as in from Point A to Point B. Nearly anyone can do that, right? She’s in bloody Africa, for Merlin’s sake, and that hasn’t changed anything. Not really, anyway. Not yet, at least. She means that he has moved on from the past, from its grasping ghosts, though she does not exactly say it. But he understands.
“You have to,” he says simply.
Ginny thinks of his response. It just can’t be that simple. Because the past still haunts her, rises in the night and catches her still in the day.
“What happened, Weasley? We won, didn’t we?” His voice sounds anxious and so unlike him that she responds loudly and firmly, “Yes.”
But then she adds a hesitant “well” because that is not entirely true. What does it mean to win? But he is nodding. He knows. “No one ever tells you it can be worse after it’s over. It’s not like war. At least, that ends, one way or another. But cleaning up the pieces, putting things back together…there’s not even pretended glory in that.”
They fall quiet again and she shivers a little in the night air but he seems perfectly fine sitting in his damp clothing, his fringe plastered against his forehead. He brings one arm up and around her shoulder and though she does not feel warmer, she feels better. Maybe she does not have to feel alone when she is with him. “Tell me something,” she says against his neck.
“Like what? Like yellow does nothing for my complexion?” He rolls his eyes and says in a stuffy voice, “I already know that.”
“No. Tell me…” She licks her lips. “Tell me how you know everything will be alright.”
“Look at the sky,” he says as he glances up at the velvet blanket studded with endless fortunes. “It’s always been the same every time I’ve looked. Ever since I was a child. Back in my days at Hogwarts and when I was all alone in this world.” He inhales deeply. “I’ve always found it breathtaking.”
He then takes one of her hands and directs her pointing finger towards an especially bright star: Polaris. “No matter where you are, you can find your way home.”
***
He only gives her a little at a time. About who he is and what he does here. But she doesn’t mind that it comes rolling to her in these small waves. She finds that she likes watching him and seeing these little pieces of him come out from underneath that hard one-dimensional exterior.
And he really is different here. He laughs and smiles more often. But it is not only that. He is animated. Really animated. His eyes just don’t merely flash but light up.
Earlier that morning, while they ate their bowls of rice with grimy hands, he had explained that Tiwai Island was a wildlife sanctuary. She recalled reading about it. It had the highest concentration and diversity of primates in the world. And there were suppose to be over a hundred different bird species and this rare pygmy hippopotamus. She had wondered if it looked anything like Arnold.
Draco had argued as they made their way into the forest, “But it’s more than that. It’s a community of people, living together, trying to preserve the beauty of this land and trying to rebuild their lives. It’s a support structure.”
And she sees that it is. Arm or no arm. Leg or no leg. Old or young. Bent or small. Everyone is helping out. Building from scratch. Or picking amongst the debris. They are there for each other.
They have been doing various tasks as they moved from the visitor’s centre near the northern shore, gathering the dishes from breakfast and assembling wheelchairs, helping rewrap wounds. They reach deeper portions of the forest and there are some kids shouting playfully at each other. They run up to Draco and jump around him, each trying to get his attention and it is some time before he can extract himself from them. She has sat on a fallen log in the shade to retie the ribbon but her hair is thick and sweaty and when he walks over, she has made the knotted mess even worse. He reaches for it and carefully undoes the tangled ribbon.
“You’re really good with kids. Who would’ve thought?” she says conversationally.
Of course, he replies in a bland voice. “I suppose it’s because I exhibit the same level of maturity as they do.”
Ginny smiles. She really does like Draco. And the thought makes her smile even more.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says, blushing and ducking her head. He makes a “hmph” sound as he threads his long fingers through her hair and ties it with the ribbon.
“There aren’t many girls here,” she observes, trying not to shiver at the feel of him.
“No,” he says a little shortly. She turns to him but he shakes his head. “You don’t want to know why.”
“Oh.” The mood becomes heavier and she feels the weight of water in the forest more than before. She shifts in her seat and her leg scratches uncomfortably against the log.
But sometimes he is good at lightening the mood. Or at least, changing it. “It’s silly, really. But one day, I want to have my own kids.” He tilts his head towards the boys in the clearing. “They’re all like my own already, but I would want a girl.”
He gets up and offers her his hand. “C’mon, you can’t sit here all day. You’re a Weasley, after all. You understand you have to work for your keep.”
Usually she would bristle at such remarks. And remarks from a Malfoy, no less. But that was a different time and this is a different Draco. And she knows he doesn’t mean it. She gets up and they keep on walking, hand in hand, their fingers threaded.
***
She has not sat for several hours and though she is weary and sore from laboring all day, she cannot help but think how much better it is to be active and to see the change take place. Her job at the Ministry involves a lot of misplaced parchment and it is very mechanical and exactly what she had wanted at the time, when she had survived the war, but felt dead anyway. But now, having spent over a week on the island, working under the beating sun, she does not feel so dead.
She stretches before she sits down by the shore. Though she likes the industriousness of the days, she enjoys being here best when the sun has melted into the horizon and the night rises in its stead. And Draco Malfoy’s voice slows down and becomes part of the twilight sounds as he sits next to her and talks to her as though there is no other person in the world and nothing else to do but just be there. With her.
She also likes recalling the moments she has spent with him. Like when she asked him if he wanted to know about anyone. He seemed a little uneasy but he finally said, “Pansy.”
When they had all been in school together, Ginny remembered calling the Slytherin girl all sorts of things. Pug-faced. Whiny. Brainless. She doesn’t understand why she was that mean. And she only felt a little bit of malice towards Draco’s ex-girlfriend when he asked about her. But she doesn’t think it has anything with being mean anymore.
“She got married.”
She held her breath when he turned to stare off into the distance. Did he regret her?
“She married Neville.”
“Longbottom?” He swiveled around to look at her, his surprise evident in his voice. He turned away again but when he looked back at her, he smiled a little. “Good.”
“What are you thinking of?” Draco asks, interrupting her thoughts.
“Nothing,” she replies, blushing and glad that it is dark. She hates it when he catches her blushing.
“You think of Nothing surprisingly often. I think I should be jealous.”
She lets out a nervous laugh.
“Are you going to miss it?”
“Miss what?” But of course she knows what he is talking about. She is leaving tomorrow but she doesn’t want to think of that. She wants to hold onto each passing moment, to the smell of the foliage and the night sounds, the children laughing and the water gently caressing the shore, the high moon and the endless stars. Though, those are at home too, Draco had told her. But Draco won’t be there.
“What do you miss?” she asks to avoid his question.
He goes along. “You mean, other than triple treacle extra fine chocolate fudge with cocoa flakes and a caramel ribbon?”
“Yes, other than a triple treacle fudge, er, you can’t seriously tell me you eat that overload?” she finally says when can’t manage to repeat the name of that decadence.
“Used to, Weasley. Not anymore.” He sighs dramatically. At least, dramatically for him. “I dream of things that aren’t rice.”
“Malfoy…” Though she calls him Draco in her head. “Fluffy bunny slippers.”
“What?”
“They were virginal white and had just enough fluff that you would bounce with each step. It was really like a little bit of heaven. And they had these floppy ears. They dragged on the floor.”
“No, really!” She doesn’t know whether to sigh in exasperation or laugh.
“Did I mention they had fangs? C’mon, Weasley, you’ve got to admit that you’ve always wanted a pair of pure white vampire bunny slippers when you were a kid.”
“No,” she replies, laughing.
“Oh, but if you’d seen them, you would’ve been green with envy. Slytherin green,” he mocks. “Though, poor Erwin. He was missing an eye and was rather self conscious about it.” And he adds, “He was the left bunny slipper,” as though that fact was important and necessary.
“What was the right bunny slipper called?” she asks gamely.
“Herman.”
“Herman!” she practically shouts but she does not notice her voice is loud in the dark. Because she is with him and it doesn’t matter. “Erwin and Herman?”
“I was, like what? Three years old?” He replies somewhat defensively. “I thought I was rhyming. But,” and he shrugs, “you find there are things you can live without.”
When she has calmed down enough from her fit of giggles, she asks, “What else do you miss?” anticipating the million and one things he must have owned, like horses, silk sheets, the newest broom on the market.
He blinks. “I miss my mum.” And Ginny is not laughing anymore. She hiccups and there is a moment of silence before he adds, “And I will miss you.”
And every sound in the forest seems to amplify. But it fades away as she stares steadily into his rainstorm eyes.
She had been waiting all week for him to kiss her. But she isn’t going to wait anymore. She closes the distance between them.
*** As Ginny stares up at the stars, her eyes automatically seek the Draco constellation. Its namesake shifts against her but he does not wake. His arms remain firmly wrapped around her bare waist and his fair hair tickles her a little but she does not mind. She smoothes his hair while she notes that the dragon-shaped cluster is not very far from Polaris. She falls asleep while the sound of the forest in the dark echoes through her heart. With each constant beat.
Part IV - A Map of the World
Looking towards the shore from the Moa River
It is dawn when she leaves Draco Malfoy and he looks so beautiful against the breaking light as the boat moves away from him that she has to bite her lip - hard - from crying out. She thinks he will turn and leave. He has much to do. But no, he stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets and in his torn shirt, staring out. At her. She can still smell him though Aiah is taking them further and further away, across the Moa River, with his one arm. But she continues looking at him, though she can hardly make out his features anymore, though he is a small point in the distance, though finally, the only way she can see him is in her mind’s eye.
They are far enough that she can see most of the island’s northern shoreline and she touches her left ring finger. It has the torn ribbon tied so tightly around it, she can feel her pulse there. It is like the heart of Africa pulsing. And she looks up at the sky and wishes it would rain.
***
She doesn’t tell him that she doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t say that she has to go. They just stand there as the twilight recedes and finally, he reaches behind her to pull the ribbon from her hair. The red locks fell about her shoulders and he says to her, “I like your hair down.”
“Tell me on the last day,” she huffs.
But they speak in whispering tones. As though speaking any louder would disrupt the careful balance between them. But it will take much more than that.
He reaches out again but this time, he picks up her left hand. They haven’t touched since they’ve disentangled themselves from each other that morning. But it doesn’t matter. He is still burning on her skin. But she likes his rough hands and warm touch all the same and she smiles while he plays with her fingers.
“Hold your hand up,” he says to her.
She looks at him inquisitively. “This isn’t another joke, is it?”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says.
She nods at him and does as he commands. Taking the ribbon, he twines it around her ring finger. “Promise me something,” he says when he has knotted it.
“Yes.” She wants to say yes to everything as they inch towards each other. The sounds of the island waking up and the sun breaking over the horizon do not catch her attention. It is his lips and his eyes that consume her.
“Promise me you’ll remember me.”
What a silly thing for him to say. How could she forget him? He is the white heart lodged within her. But she does promise him. “I do,” she whispers against his lips.
***
It has been over two years since she has last seen Draco Malfoy. And she thinks of going to Sierra Leone, to that narrow strip of runway in Lungi and onto the MI8 with its loud propellers. And she thinks how differently she would feel about lying on that sagging bed with the mosquito netting above, fluttering silver in the moonlight, or about having Draco’s firm hands on her waist. And she misses him in a way that hurts. She sees his stormy eyes and the way he smiles at the children playing with their bare feet. She sees the way he looks at the island and the way he looks at her and she sighs once in a while at her desk and touches the ribbon on her finger.
But she can’t go. Not yet. Even though she fears that as time passes, it will be harder and harder to go back. Because what if things have changed? What if he has forgotten her? But she cannot dwell on things she cannot control. She can only take on the things she can. And strive for a better Britain, a new wizarding world, so that when she does go back, it will not be because she’s running away, it will be because she’ll be ready to show him that she has remembered him and she has learned and done so much under his care, because of his care, because of him.
“Ginny?”
The voice is accompanied by a knock at her door and Ginny looks up, startled. “Oh, Ron, hello.”
“You’re still here, Ginbug?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“You’re still here,” she observes.
“Yeah, but I was just heading out.” He holds up his briefcase as proof. “It’s Friday night. Go home. Go on a date. Do something!”
“There was a time when you tried to stop me from going on dates,” she counters, tracing the turns of her ribbon underneath the desk.
“But Ginny…you should…” And he falls silent. They’ve had this discussion before.
Ginny wants to say something but she doesn’t know what. She can’t tell her brother that every date she’s been on, Draco Malfoy’s sarcastic voice is providing running commentary the entire time. “I can’t believe you would date someone whose trousers are too short. Look! The leg doesn’t even meet the top of his shoes. And don’t get me started on those socks! Everyone knows penguins are much cooler than teddy bears.”
Never mind it feels so wrong. Not so much because it is a betrayal of him but because it is a betrayal of her own heart.
“There’s this new bloke in my department. He said he didn’t have any plans tonight,” Ron said, taping his chin thoughtfully.
But Ginny shakes her head. She picks up a brochure she had received in her Muggle mailbox a few days ago and waves it in the air. “I never said I didn’t have any plans.”
Ron raises an eyebrow.
“There’s this exhibit at the museum,” she explains.
“You’re going to a museum on a Friday night?”
“It's on Africa!” she protests.
“You and Africa.” He sounds resigned. “It’s not like you’ve ever been there,” he reasons.
She looks down. She has never told Ron about Sierra Leone, she has never told anyone. It is something she wants to keep to herself, for herself, though she has encouraged family and friends to donate to various Muggle issues at home and abroad. She asks instead, “How are Lavender and the baby doing?”
Ron smiles. “They're great. They're just great.” He usually launches into long inarticulate speeches about his new son and his wonderful, wonderful wife but this time he pauses for a moment before saying, “I can't believe I was such a jerk to her at Hogwarts. What was I thinking?”
“Things change,” Ginny replies, smiling her own secret smile. “People change.”
“Yeah, they do,” he says, nodding. He runs a hand through his hair and he half-turns, like he is going to leave but he stops and looks at her inquisitively.
Ginny frowns. “What?”
“Well...” he begins, then shakes his head. “No, never mind.”
“No, say it!” she laughs at the uneasy look on her brother’s face. Ron, of all her brothers, makes the best faces, even if he does not mean to. “I'm your sister. What can't you say to me?”
Ron looks at her in horror. “There are plenty of things you should never say to a sister!” And they laugh for a moment, together, before he calms down and smiles gently at her. “I don't mean this as an offense...”
“Oh, no, what is it?” she replies good-naturedly. “You’re not going to make fun of my bunny slippers again, are you?”
“Well, they have fangs, Ginny. But no, it’s just…” He pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “You’ve changed a lot. After the war, of course. But recently. You've done so much with the reconstruction and it's...I just...” Ron throws his hands up in the air. “What I mean to say is I'm proud of you.”
Ginny blushes. A bubble of pride rises but she is also reminded that Ron has been doing this since the beginning. He never gave up on wizarding Britain.
“I know it was hard for you when Dad died.”
“It was hard on all of us,” Ginny interrupts.
“I know, but you took it really hard, and none of us knew what to do. I mean, Dad was always best at these things,” he says, looking at the ground. But then he looks up at her and smiles, “But of course, I should’ve known you would get back on your feet again.”
He gestures at her private office. “And now, you’re in the International Division for Reconciliation. Maybe one day, they’ll give you an assignment to Africa and you can visit.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she smiles.
“Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the wife. She wants me to pick up milk on the way home,” he says rolling his eyes. “I live an utterly boring and mundane life.”
“And you love it,” she says.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell her that. She may use that against me.” But Ron has a goofy grin on his face and adds, “But I may like that too.”
Ginny makes a face at him and Ron laughs. “Have fun tonight,” he says as he walks out the door. “But remember, Sunday brunch at the Burrow.”
“I’ll be there,” she says with a wave.
***
She likes walking through Muggle London. And in the summer months, there is a certain hour between light and dark that she enjoys the most. The tourists are not clogging the streets and filling the air with their loud sounds and clicking away with their picture-taking devices and the night revelers have yet to creep out in the street. She knows it is uncharitable to want beauty without noise, but then she knows that is possible too.
The sun is setting but it is still light enough for her to look at the brochure she had received. She doesn’t usually get mailings from the Tate group and though she enjoys museums, she does not frequent them. But in any case, this has been a stroke of luck because the new exhibit is “Seeing Africa” and it makes her feel a little closer to Draco just thinking about it.
She has been reading about Africa in Muggle history books and newspapers. And Hermione had mentioned something called “internet.” Though she has not searched there yet, she knows enough about this once enigmatic place to assess the accuracy of the brochure. After all, she knows all too well that brochures can be deceiving.
In the dimming light, she reads: “These works were made between 1880 and 1960 during the colonial occupation of areas where European rule left a legacy of violence. But for most of the traveling European artists, the people they saw were simply part of a vista of African flora and fauna.”* She frowns while glancing at the crossway. It tells her to look right. She checks for cars and then crosses.
The passage is accurate. But it doesn’t mean she is happy with the content and she wonders if it hadn’t been for Draco, she would’ve thought the same thing too. That these people are merely part of the “flora and fauna,” as it is worded. Her frown deepens a little. Could she have really walked through Sierra Leone and not have noticed? She shakes her head. She doesn’t think it is possible.
She is walking along the river and intends to cross at Lambeth Bridge and go south to the Tate Britain. It is generally busy near the bridge with autos at the roundabout. But the view of the river and the House of Parliament is impressive and she takes a moment to look at it as the lights on the building begin to illuminate the ornate architecture.
She reads a little more: “These works pose complex questions about representation, about the interplay between artist, subject and viewer, and about the role of the artist within a fragile social and political environment. The works can be viewed in several contradictory ways - as a historical exercise in colonial propaganda, as a network of romantic illusions, as a valiant attempt to grasp the essence of another culture, or even as a transcendent vision of beauty.”* She likes what it says here and with a nod, she slides the brochure into her jacket pocket and walks with quicker steps towards the museum. She wants to see if these paintings will show what the brochure has promised, what she knows is true of the heart of Africa.
But when she walks in, her eyes are automatically drawn to the map of the world that stretches across one wall of the room. And she walks towards it instead of the other paintings that are actually part of the exhibit. But she cannot see the African continent because a man is standing in front of it. And even from behind, she can tell it is Draco. Her heart skips a beat - several - and she fondly thinks, “Of course that prat is blocking my view.”
He is not staring at the map with that faraway look she is familiar with. Instead, he is frowning down at his starch white shirt. And it makes her smiles as he scratches his chest through the Oxford. She must agree, she prefers his old shirt.
She is reaching for his shoulder when he says, “I was wondering when you would come,” so instead of touching him, she stands beside him.
He is clean-shaven and dressed well, in a collared shirt tucked into black pants, and she finds this odd. She is sure most people would assume Draco Malfoy would look well put-together but this is not the Draco Malfoy she knows.
“How did you know I would come?”
He rolls his eyes. “I sent you the bloody brochure.”
Ginny stares at him.
“Close your mouth. You look like a fish,” he chastises.
“Would that matter?” she asks, nonetheless closing her mouth the moment she stops speaking.
“No, of course not. But I would have to look at it all the time,” he snaps.
As his words sink in, she blinks at him, concerned that this is all a dream. “Are you’re going to stay here?”
“No,” he says firmly and immediately. Of course it would be too good to be true. “I have to go back. I can’t leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And you can’t leave yet either.” He turns to her to face her head on for the first time and his silver storm eyes look steadily at her.
She never wants to stop looking at those eyes but she forces herself to bite her lower lip and query, “But you’re here? Did something happen?”
“Tobias,” he sneers. “He was caught smuggling diamonds.”
“Oh!” She has not read this yet but then she remembers the stack of newspapers piling up by the door of her flat the she has meant to read this weekend.
“I’ve been called to the trial. They said they would put me up in a hotel room but I made a deal with them. I would find my own accommodations if they donated the money to a fund for the sanctuary.” He is looking at her expectantly but she does not blush and look away.
“Of course,” she says, nodding. She wants to ask if it feels hot in the room or say something about the white walls but it sounds stupid and uninspired in her head. And then she ends up saying something equally asinine anyway. “Anything else new?”
He arches a blond eyebrow. “I formally adopted Sheku.” The boy without any arms. She knew he had favored him.
“Wonderful,” she says. “You’ll teach him all of your charms, I’m sure.”
“Are you accusing me of being charming?” he asks, making a face.
She laughs. Leave it to Draco to go against the grain. Merlin, she misses him. And wonders if she will miss him even more when he leaves this time around. “How long do I have you for?”
He tilts his head. “Forever.”
And she wants to sob. She touches the ribbon around her finger. It has become a reflexive reaction whenever she needs comfort. Even though he is standing right in front of her. “No, really.” No jokes. They can’t joke about this. “You said you can’t stay.”
“No. But you can come see me.”
“Draco…” she begins but he interrupts her harshly. “You are a witch, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes…” she replies uncertainly.
“You have a wand, at the very least,” he says, rolling his eyes.
Someone comes up to look at the map but Draco will not budge. Ginny shifts to give the other woman room. But she is not really looking at the map but at Draco, batting her long eyelashes at him. Ginny glares at this intrusive blond and steps towards Draco.
“But you know I can’t take a wand abroad. There are rules,” she whispers, feeling irrationally smug about standing so close to him. It’s not like she owned him. But she does want to tell that woman that yes, he is a fantastic shag, the best, well…the only, but she shakes herself a little before continuing on. “And I just-”
The woman is glaring back at her. And Ginny stops to give her her most menacing look.
She hears Draco sigh. “Are you part of this conversation or not? Or have you had a change in preference that you need to inform me about?”
Ginny turns back. “No!” Her voice echoes in the white room and she blushes. “Ergh,” she huffs in frustration. “I could’ve shouted in the forest all I wanted.”
“Well, I know that,” Draco says smugly.
She really blushes this time around and tries to shift back to their previous conversation. “You need permission to Apparate internationally.”
Draco rolls his eyes. “And what department do you work in now?”
“Well, I…” Oh. “It’s certainly easier for me to do it but it’ll be illegal.”
“Then change the laws, Weasley. Or break them. Come and dally on the other side with me for a while.” He smirks at her. She is sure she looks very tempted to take his invitation because she is. “We work during the day anyway. What do you do at nights? Go to museum exhibits all the time? You can spend the nights with me. I have a hammock now,” he says, winking. “And I might be convinced to share it. And I don’t know, I’ll take a holiday once in a while. I guess England is not such a bad place around Christmas time but have you ever been to Wales? Wales is a white dream during Christmas. I’m sure Sheku would like to see it, too.”
She looks at him though he is no longer looking at her. He is staring at the map, with his hands in his pocket, his silver eyes looking over the plane of land and water. He doesn’t belong in this sterile room, she thinks. She doesn’t realize she has actually said this out-loud until he asks, “Where do I belong then?”
“At home.”
“And where’s that?”
“In Sierra Leone,” she replies in a whisper. “And with me.”
Draco smiles. He had been looking sour all this while but now, he is clearly happy though he hasn’t turned to look at her yet. But it doesn’t matter. It is enough to make her happy too.
“This will work,” he says, nodding. “As long as we’re both willing to make it work.”
And she laughs. And then she smiles. “Who would’ve thought you, a Malfoy, would be so adamant about working?” And she takes the few steps to close the distance between them and she wraps her arms around him. And this time - unlike that day over two years ago when she did the same thing at the marketplace in Sierra Leone - he does the same. She whispers the Krio phrase he had taught her into his chest, “A de go na os.”
And she looks up, expecting him to be looking at the map of the world still, but instead, his rainstorm eyes are entirely focused on her.
* quoted directly from Tate Britain - Seeing Africa, About
**A de go na os: “I am going home”
The End
Appendix: These are the sites I referred to in my research for this fic. I encourage you to look at them if you are curious and form your own opinion about Sierra Leone and the need there.
Wikipedia - Sierra Leone: http://fienabler.livejournal.com/7386.html
Wikitravel - Sierra Leone: http://wikitravel.org/en/Sierra_Leone
BBC News Country Profile: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/country_profiles/1061561.stm
BBC Timeline: Sierra Leone: (WARNING! Picture of child amputee) http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/country_profiles/1065898.stm
CIA World Factbook: https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/sl.html
Sierra Leone Encyclopedia 2006: http://www.daco-sl.org/encyclopedia/
LivefromFreetown: http://www.livefromfreetown.com/
Visit Sierra Leone: www.visitsierraleone.org
Krio words and phrases: http://www.visitsierraleone.org/krio.asp
The Environmental Foundation for Africa: http://www.efasl.org.uk/
Conservation International: http://www.conservation.org/xp/frontlines/species/06220601.xml
Notes from Sierra Leone(for Moa picture photos and quote): http://www.greenebean.com/julie/sierraleone.html
BBC Weather - Sierra Leone: http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather/world/country_guides/results.shtml?tt=TT000540
Sierra Leone Web(for aerial photos of Freetown and children at play photo): http://www.sierra-leone.org/
Salone Scrapbook (for rainy season and sunset photos): http://hypertextbook.com/eworld/photos.shtml
Tate Britain: Seeing Africa: http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/seeingafrica/default.shtm
And the knowledge on London was all my own…but I still won’t make any money from this, despite promoting the view from Lambeth Bridge.
And of course, I’ve just used Draco and Ginny for my own pleasure…and hopefully yours too!
It was pointed out to me that the bunny with fangs idea could be attributed to Monty Python or the Bunnicula Series by James Howe but really, I got it from the vampire bat bear (yes, a vampire bat bear) I have. Denon Wing (named after that particular portion of the Louvre) was sitting on my bed while I was writing this, but I changed it from bear to bunny because how cute is the image of a little blond Malfoy running around with the long ears of his bunny slippers dragging on the marble floors? Yeah, I thought so. ;)
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: A few years after Voldemort's defeat, D & G happen to meet under odd circumstances. & you can take it from there. :)
The tone/mood of the fic: Slightly angsty fluff.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: A ribbon of any colour but green.
Canon or AU? Canon.
Rating of the the fic you want: PG-13.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Harry/Hermione. OOCness.
Author: Black Alnair
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Books 1-6
Summary: The ghosts that haunt Ginny Weasley after the Second War lead her to Sierra Leone where she seeks escape but instead, learns of hope and the endurance of innocence from the unlikely figure of Draco Malfoy. Excerpt: “Ginny lets out a sigh and turns to face her savior. But they are close and he is a tall. She has to lean back to see the stubble on his chin but it is his lips that her eyes fixate on. There is something familiar about their sensuousness.”
Author's Notes: I think I did a fair amount of research on Sierra Leone for this fic (look at the appendix! I read fact sheets, news articles and even blogs and of course, looked at a lot of pretty pictures), but any inaccuracies are entirely my own and my betas are in no way accountable for them. Speaking of my wonderful betas (dragonlilleth, fallenwitch and jandjsalmon), I am infinitely grateful for all the help they’ve given me. And furthermore, thanks to the person who requested the prompt! It really inspired me and I can only hope you like this!
Betas: dragonlilleth, fallenwitch, jandjsalmon
( Part 1&2 )
Part III - And the Twilight Sounds
Rainy Season in Sierra Leone
Children at Play
It is twilight when the rains stop, the skies clear and the sound of water dripping off the tree branches in the dark echo throughout the island. Ginny is still soaking wet from the squall that hit while they were in the river. And there are splinters in the palms of her hands from holding onto the sides of the boat tightly. This is how Ginny knows there is still Gryffindor in her. Because how easy would it have been to just let go? To be swept and swallowed by this force of nature? But she can’t. She couldn’t. Just let go.
Not until Draco Malfoy offered her his hand. He still did not look her in the eye as he put it out for her, but she gratefully took it.
***
The boat rocks in the now turbulent waters and she can hardly see beyond the endless grey sheet of rain. She is gripping onto the side of the canoe though it hurts with the splintered wood digging into her palms. She does not let go but then Draco thrusts his hand under her nose. She takes it and climbs out into the surprisingly cool water. It reaches her waist and rises around her in chaotic breaks.
She wants to clutch onto Draco the way she used to hold onto her father when she was a little girl. But she is no longer that girl. And she doesn’t know if she wants to be again. In any case, Draco has the canoe lashed to him and just holding her hand is adding to his problems.
They fight the current as they move towards the shore, the canoe bumping into them as they take two steps forward and slide three back.
She does not realize they are on solid ground until she is suddenly standing under a grove of thin tall trees. There are other people there but she cannot see. The rain is still in her eyes and it is dark. She can hear voices and she knows they are speaking in Krio but she cannot understand. She is essentially blind and deaf and she tightens her hold on Draco’s hand reflexively.
There is a delay. But he squeezes back.
Then flashes of orange light up the shadows and she sees dots move across her field of vision. They have lighted up torches or lanterns or something but her eyes still need to adjust. And when she blinks a few times, she can finally make out a boy. Thin. Dark. Young. Maybe six or seven. He is running towards Draco.
Draco tugs at her hand and she turns her gaze towards him. “This is the face of war that I know,” he says to her. He must mean the boy. Who has no arms.
Draco lets go of her hand and takes the few steps that separate him from the running child. He scoops him up into his strong arms. “Kushe padi, he says, smiling at the boy who smiles back at him while the thunder claps above.
*Kushe padi: “hello friend”
***
She is picking at her hands. She can feel the splinters but she cannot see them even though by now the sky has cleared and the moon is high. The forest continues to drip-drip in the twilight and the sound of Krio seems to roll over the island like it has always belonged there. And there is something else that is new and strange and she only hears it occasionally. It breaks the usual stream of sound that is this place. And there it is again. She looks up as she hears the children laughing. And she peers into the darkness and sees their outlines. Then someone much taller, with narrow shoulders and white-blond hair that catches what little light there is, emerges from the shadows. She can tell he has reached out and ruffled a boy’s hair.
He comes towards her and she looks down at her hands again. He stands for a while - looking, she is sure, at something she does not see - before he sits down beside her and takes one of her hands between his own. He examines and pokes the splinters, causing her to flinch a little. “Silly duck.”
And it is such an odd phrase for him to say that she giggles a little.
“Why did you hold on?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid,” she concedes.
“I would've fished you out. Don't you have faith in anything?”
Have faith in him? She does not know.
“Well, do you?” he repeats as he peers at her damaged hands.
“I don't know.”
“You should. How can you keep going on if you don't have faith in something?”
“What do you have faith in?” she asks curiously.
He looks down at her hand and pulls a splinter from her palm with practiced ease. It stings a little but not much. “I have faith...” - and here he looks back up at her - “in this place.”
Though he sounds sincere, she has to wonder if he isn’t being at least a bit disingenuous. Having been dragged through dirt and water for the past two days, she tries not to make a face when she asks, “Why do you like it here?” Draco is much better at keeping his face neutral. If he wants to.
“At first...” He seems to be thinking carefully of his response. A first. At first. “Because here, I learned the world was unfair. Not just for me. But for everyone.”
And though she cannot see his face, she can hear the smile in his voice when he says. “And now, for its innocence.”
“Innocence?” She thinks of all those lost limbs and she does not know what he means. She shakes her head. “Innocence does not last.”
“No,” he agrees and he is looking directly into her eyes. She can see their silver ring even in the dark. “But what does? Isn't everything swept away with time? But it keeps coming back. There will always be a new generation or a new way of looking at the world. Innocence” - and he points at the cluster of kids laughing as they kick around a football amongst the trees - “it will find you.”
They are silent for a moment before he tilts his head towards the ball again. “Contraband. Stuff you’re not suppose to import. I do like to dally on the other side of the law,” he says quite seriously. Though, maybe it is a joke. She wishes he would wiggle his eyebrows or something to let her know. But then, maybe he is not joking. And he would look silly wiggling his eyebrows anyway.
“Smuggling footballs?” she queries.
“Well, a football.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “It’s not really illegal anymore but no one thinks of bringing things for the kids. Tobias thought I was just wasting money I didn’t have.”
“Tobias runs errands for you?” She asks quizzically. He is finally talking, for whatever reason, and she cannot turn down an opportunity to unravel the mystery that is Draco Malfoy.
“I suppose you can say he is our gopher,” he smirks but this expression fades when he heaves a sigh. “But we’re actually getting the raw end of the deal and there’s no way around that. Very few people are willing to travel to Sierra Leone at this time” - and he looks pointedly at her - “and help us get what we need out here. We pay him far more than he should be paid to transport the necessary items and get the proper clearance. He then spends it all on girls and drinks. At least he spends it here. Goes back to the economy, I suppose.”
Ginny makes a face. She remembers those tall beautiful girls. Girls. She tries to keep her voice neutral when she states, “But you’re not just getting him to transport footballs.”
“No, it’s mostly crutches, dissembled parts of wheelchairs and malaria pills,” he verifies. “During the war here, many of the rebels hacked off the limbs of civilians. Mostly women and children. Hell, many of the people who wielded the axes were children themselves.”
He recites this information like it is a tired fact. His voice is neutral, but there is something in the set of his jaw that tells her he feels anything but indifferent about this war.
War. War. War. It pounds in her head.
They sit silent for some minutes as he takes out the splinters in her hands. His touch is delicate and feather light and Ginny finds herself holding her breath as he works.
Finally, she cannot resist. “How did you end up here, Malfoy? How did you move from one war to another?”
He does not answer her at first and she thinks he will not answer but then he heaves a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit as though heavy with the weight of memories. “It’s not like I meant to come here. I just wanted to forget the war. Forget everything. And I thought I could run from it. And I was daft enough to leave my wand behind. Or lose it. I don’t remember. Anyway, I took Muggle transportation across all of Europe and ended up in Turkey, hungry, dirty” - and he says this in a way that probably only a Malfoy can - “and with nowhere to go.”
He peers into the darkness but his hands are still holding hers. Warm in the cooling night. “Ayodele,” he whispers and it is soft and different from his usually harsh tone. “She was this young doctor - a Muggle healer, you know - that I met in the bazaar. I thought she was mad. She and a bunch of other doctors had moved from war zone to war zone across the entire bloody globe. It seemed like they were chasing war.”
“But, when she came to Africa,” he says, shrugging a little, “I came with her.”
He does not say anymore and Ginny wonders if she should ask. Ask what? If he had ever been in love? If he is in love? The thought makes her stomach clench and she wants to ignore it but she can’t. So she asks. “What is she doing now?”
“Now?” he laughs but there is no humor in it. “Nothing. She’s dead.”
“Oh, I - ” And she does not know what to say. She thinks that maybe she knows how he feels. And she does not mean to say it but it comes out anyway. “How do you move on?”
Of course, she does not mean move as in from Point A to Point B. Nearly anyone can do that, right? She’s in bloody Africa, for Merlin’s sake, and that hasn’t changed anything. Not really, anyway. Not yet, at least. She means that he has moved on from the past, from its grasping ghosts, though she does not exactly say it. But he understands.
“You have to,” he says simply.
Ginny thinks of his response. It just can’t be that simple. Because the past still haunts her, rises in the night and catches her still in the day.
“What happened, Weasley? We won, didn’t we?” His voice sounds anxious and so unlike him that she responds loudly and firmly, “Yes.”
But then she adds a hesitant “well” because that is not entirely true. What does it mean to win? But he is nodding. He knows. “No one ever tells you it can be worse after it’s over. It’s not like war. At least, that ends, one way or another. But cleaning up the pieces, putting things back together…there’s not even pretended glory in that.”
They fall quiet again and she shivers a little in the night air but he seems perfectly fine sitting in his damp clothing, his fringe plastered against his forehead. He brings one arm up and around her shoulder and though she does not feel warmer, she feels better. Maybe she does not have to feel alone when she is with him. “Tell me something,” she says against his neck.
“Like what? Like yellow does nothing for my complexion?” He rolls his eyes and says in a stuffy voice, “I already know that.”
“No. Tell me…” She licks her lips. “Tell me how you know everything will be alright.”
“Look at the sky,” he says as he glances up at the velvet blanket studded with endless fortunes. “It’s always been the same every time I’ve looked. Ever since I was a child. Back in my days at Hogwarts and when I was all alone in this world.” He inhales deeply. “I’ve always found it breathtaking.”
He then takes one of her hands and directs her pointing finger towards an especially bright star: Polaris. “No matter where you are, you can find your way home.”
***
He only gives her a little at a time. About who he is and what he does here. But she doesn’t mind that it comes rolling to her in these small waves. She finds that she likes watching him and seeing these little pieces of him come out from underneath that hard one-dimensional exterior.
And he really is different here. He laughs and smiles more often. But it is not only that. He is animated. Really animated. His eyes just don’t merely flash but light up.
Earlier that morning, while they ate their bowls of rice with grimy hands, he had explained that Tiwai Island was a wildlife sanctuary. She recalled reading about it. It had the highest concentration and diversity of primates in the world. And there were suppose to be over a hundred different bird species and this rare pygmy hippopotamus. She had wondered if it looked anything like Arnold.
Draco had argued as they made their way into the forest, “But it’s more than that. It’s a community of people, living together, trying to preserve the beauty of this land and trying to rebuild their lives. It’s a support structure.”
And she sees that it is. Arm or no arm. Leg or no leg. Old or young. Bent or small. Everyone is helping out. Building from scratch. Or picking amongst the debris. They are there for each other.
They have been doing various tasks as they moved from the visitor’s centre near the northern shore, gathering the dishes from breakfast and assembling wheelchairs, helping rewrap wounds. They reach deeper portions of the forest and there are some kids shouting playfully at each other. They run up to Draco and jump around him, each trying to get his attention and it is some time before he can extract himself from them. She has sat on a fallen log in the shade to retie the ribbon but her hair is thick and sweaty and when he walks over, she has made the knotted mess even worse. He reaches for it and carefully undoes the tangled ribbon.
“You’re really good with kids. Who would’ve thought?” she says conversationally.
Of course, he replies in a bland voice. “I suppose it’s because I exhibit the same level of maturity as they do.”
Ginny smiles. She really does like Draco. And the thought makes her smile even more.
“What?”
“Nothing,” she says, blushing and ducking her head. He makes a “hmph” sound as he threads his long fingers through her hair and ties it with the ribbon.
“There aren’t many girls here,” she observes, trying not to shiver at the feel of him.
“No,” he says a little shortly. She turns to him but he shakes his head. “You don’t want to know why.”
“Oh.” The mood becomes heavier and she feels the weight of water in the forest more than before. She shifts in her seat and her leg scratches uncomfortably against the log.
But sometimes he is good at lightening the mood. Or at least, changing it. “It’s silly, really. But one day, I want to have my own kids.” He tilts his head towards the boys in the clearing. “They’re all like my own already, but I would want a girl.”
He gets up and offers her his hand. “C’mon, you can’t sit here all day. You’re a Weasley, after all. You understand you have to work for your keep.”
Usually she would bristle at such remarks. And remarks from a Malfoy, no less. But that was a different time and this is a different Draco. And she knows he doesn’t mean it. She gets up and they keep on walking, hand in hand, their fingers threaded.
***
She has not sat for several hours and though she is weary and sore from laboring all day, she cannot help but think how much better it is to be active and to see the change take place. Her job at the Ministry involves a lot of misplaced parchment and it is very mechanical and exactly what she had wanted at the time, when she had survived the war, but felt dead anyway. But now, having spent over a week on the island, working under the beating sun, she does not feel so dead.
She stretches before she sits down by the shore. Though she likes the industriousness of the days, she enjoys being here best when the sun has melted into the horizon and the night rises in its stead. And Draco Malfoy’s voice slows down and becomes part of the twilight sounds as he sits next to her and talks to her as though there is no other person in the world and nothing else to do but just be there. With her.
She also likes recalling the moments she has spent with him. Like when she asked him if he wanted to know about anyone. He seemed a little uneasy but he finally said, “Pansy.”
When they had all been in school together, Ginny remembered calling the Slytherin girl all sorts of things. Pug-faced. Whiny. Brainless. She doesn’t understand why she was that mean. And she only felt a little bit of malice towards Draco’s ex-girlfriend when he asked about her. But she doesn’t think it has anything with being mean anymore.
“She got married.”
She held her breath when he turned to stare off into the distance. Did he regret her?
“She married Neville.”
“Longbottom?” He swiveled around to look at her, his surprise evident in his voice. He turned away again but when he looked back at her, he smiled a little. “Good.”
“What are you thinking of?” Draco asks, interrupting her thoughts.
“Nothing,” she replies, blushing and glad that it is dark. She hates it when he catches her blushing.
“You think of Nothing surprisingly often. I think I should be jealous.”
She lets out a nervous laugh.
“Are you going to miss it?”
“Miss what?” But of course she knows what he is talking about. She is leaving tomorrow but she doesn’t want to think of that. She wants to hold onto each passing moment, to the smell of the foliage and the night sounds, the children laughing and the water gently caressing the shore, the high moon and the endless stars. Though, those are at home too, Draco had told her. But Draco won’t be there.
“What do you miss?” she asks to avoid his question.
He goes along. “You mean, other than triple treacle extra fine chocolate fudge with cocoa flakes and a caramel ribbon?”
“Yes, other than a triple treacle fudge, er, you can’t seriously tell me you eat that overload?” she finally says when can’t manage to repeat the name of that decadence.
“Used to, Weasley. Not anymore.” He sighs dramatically. At least, dramatically for him. “I dream of things that aren’t rice.”
“Malfoy…” Though she calls him Draco in her head. “Fluffy bunny slippers.”
“What?”
“They were virginal white and had just enough fluff that you would bounce with each step. It was really like a little bit of heaven. And they had these floppy ears. They dragged on the floor.”
“No, really!” She doesn’t know whether to sigh in exasperation or laugh.
“Did I mention they had fangs? C’mon, Weasley, you’ve got to admit that you’ve always wanted a pair of pure white vampire bunny slippers when you were a kid.”
“No,” she replies, laughing.
“Oh, but if you’d seen them, you would’ve been green with envy. Slytherin green,” he mocks. “Though, poor Erwin. He was missing an eye and was rather self conscious about it.” And he adds, “He was the left bunny slipper,” as though that fact was important and necessary.
“What was the right bunny slipper called?” she asks gamely.
“Herman.”
“Herman!” she practically shouts but she does not notice her voice is loud in the dark. Because she is with him and it doesn’t matter. “Erwin and Herman?”
“I was, like what? Three years old?” He replies somewhat defensively. “I thought I was rhyming. But,” and he shrugs, “you find there are things you can live without.”
When she has calmed down enough from her fit of giggles, she asks, “What else do you miss?” anticipating the million and one things he must have owned, like horses, silk sheets, the newest broom on the market.
He blinks. “I miss my mum.” And Ginny is not laughing anymore. She hiccups and there is a moment of silence before he adds, “And I will miss you.”
And every sound in the forest seems to amplify. But it fades away as she stares steadily into his rainstorm eyes.
She had been waiting all week for him to kiss her. But she isn’t going to wait anymore. She closes the distance between them.
*** As Ginny stares up at the stars, her eyes automatically seek the Draco constellation. Its namesake shifts against her but he does not wake. His arms remain firmly wrapped around her bare waist and his fair hair tickles her a little but she does not mind. She smoothes his hair while she notes that the dragon-shaped cluster is not very far from Polaris. She falls asleep while the sound of the forest in the dark echoes through her heart. With each constant beat.
Part IV - A Map of the World
Looking towards the shore from the Moa River
It is dawn when she leaves Draco Malfoy and he looks so beautiful against the breaking light as the boat moves away from him that she has to bite her lip - hard - from crying out. She thinks he will turn and leave. He has much to do. But no, he stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets and in his torn shirt, staring out. At her. She can still smell him though Aiah is taking them further and further away, across the Moa River, with his one arm. But she continues looking at him, though she can hardly make out his features anymore, though he is a small point in the distance, though finally, the only way she can see him is in her mind’s eye.
They are far enough that she can see most of the island’s northern shoreline and she touches her left ring finger. It has the torn ribbon tied so tightly around it, she can feel her pulse there. It is like the heart of Africa pulsing. And she looks up at the sky and wishes it would rain.
***
She doesn’t tell him that she doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t say that she has to go. They just stand there as the twilight recedes and finally, he reaches behind her to pull the ribbon from her hair. The red locks fell about her shoulders and he says to her, “I like your hair down.”
“Tell me on the last day,” she huffs.
But they speak in whispering tones. As though speaking any louder would disrupt the careful balance between them. But it will take much more than that.
He reaches out again but this time, he picks up her left hand. They haven’t touched since they’ve disentangled themselves from each other that morning. But it doesn’t matter. He is still burning on her skin. But she likes his rough hands and warm touch all the same and she smiles while he plays with her fingers.
“Hold your hand up,” he says to her.
She looks at him inquisitively. “This isn’t another joke, is it?”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says.
She nods at him and does as he commands. Taking the ribbon, he twines it around her ring finger. “Promise me something,” he says when he has knotted it.
“Yes.” She wants to say yes to everything as they inch towards each other. The sounds of the island waking up and the sun breaking over the horizon do not catch her attention. It is his lips and his eyes that consume her.
“Promise me you’ll remember me.”
What a silly thing for him to say. How could she forget him? He is the white heart lodged within her. But she does promise him. “I do,” she whispers against his lips.
***
It has been over two years since she has last seen Draco Malfoy. And she thinks of going to Sierra Leone, to that narrow strip of runway in Lungi and onto the MI8 with its loud propellers. And she thinks how differently she would feel about lying on that sagging bed with the mosquito netting above, fluttering silver in the moonlight, or about having Draco’s firm hands on her waist. And she misses him in a way that hurts. She sees his stormy eyes and the way he smiles at the children playing with their bare feet. She sees the way he looks at the island and the way he looks at her and she sighs once in a while at her desk and touches the ribbon on her finger.
But she can’t go. Not yet. Even though she fears that as time passes, it will be harder and harder to go back. Because what if things have changed? What if he has forgotten her? But she cannot dwell on things she cannot control. She can only take on the things she can. And strive for a better Britain, a new wizarding world, so that when she does go back, it will not be because she’s running away, it will be because she’ll be ready to show him that she has remembered him and she has learned and done so much under his care, because of his care, because of him.
“Ginny?”
The voice is accompanied by a knock at her door and Ginny looks up, startled. “Oh, Ron, hello.”
“You’re still here, Ginbug?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“You’re still here,” she observes.
“Yeah, but I was just heading out.” He holds up his briefcase as proof. “It’s Friday night. Go home. Go on a date. Do something!”
“There was a time when you tried to stop me from going on dates,” she counters, tracing the turns of her ribbon underneath the desk.
“But Ginny…you should…” And he falls silent. They’ve had this discussion before.
Ginny wants to say something but she doesn’t know what. She can’t tell her brother that every date she’s been on, Draco Malfoy’s sarcastic voice is providing running commentary the entire time. “I can’t believe you would date someone whose trousers are too short. Look! The leg doesn’t even meet the top of his shoes. And don’t get me started on those socks! Everyone knows penguins are much cooler than teddy bears.”
Never mind it feels so wrong. Not so much because it is a betrayal of him but because it is a betrayal of her own heart.
“There’s this new bloke in my department. He said he didn’t have any plans tonight,” Ron said, taping his chin thoughtfully.
But Ginny shakes her head. She picks up a brochure she had received in her Muggle mailbox a few days ago and waves it in the air. “I never said I didn’t have any plans.”
Ron raises an eyebrow.
“There’s this exhibit at the museum,” she explains.
“You’re going to a museum on a Friday night?”
“It's on Africa!” she protests.
“You and Africa.” He sounds resigned. “It’s not like you’ve ever been there,” he reasons.
She looks down. She has never told Ron about Sierra Leone, she has never told anyone. It is something she wants to keep to herself, for herself, though she has encouraged family and friends to donate to various Muggle issues at home and abroad. She asks instead, “How are Lavender and the baby doing?”
Ron smiles. “They're great. They're just great.” He usually launches into long inarticulate speeches about his new son and his wonderful, wonderful wife but this time he pauses for a moment before saying, “I can't believe I was such a jerk to her at Hogwarts. What was I thinking?”
“Things change,” Ginny replies, smiling her own secret smile. “People change.”
“Yeah, they do,” he says, nodding. He runs a hand through his hair and he half-turns, like he is going to leave but he stops and looks at her inquisitively.
Ginny frowns. “What?”
“Well...” he begins, then shakes his head. “No, never mind.”
“No, say it!” she laughs at the uneasy look on her brother’s face. Ron, of all her brothers, makes the best faces, even if he does not mean to. “I'm your sister. What can't you say to me?”
Ron looks at her in horror. “There are plenty of things you should never say to a sister!” And they laugh for a moment, together, before he calms down and smiles gently at her. “I don't mean this as an offense...”
“Oh, no, what is it?” she replies good-naturedly. “You’re not going to make fun of my bunny slippers again, are you?”
“Well, they have fangs, Ginny. But no, it’s just…” He pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “You’ve changed a lot. After the war, of course. But recently. You've done so much with the reconstruction and it's...I just...” Ron throws his hands up in the air. “What I mean to say is I'm proud of you.”
Ginny blushes. A bubble of pride rises but she is also reminded that Ron has been doing this since the beginning. He never gave up on wizarding Britain.
“I know it was hard for you when Dad died.”
“It was hard on all of us,” Ginny interrupts.
“I know, but you took it really hard, and none of us knew what to do. I mean, Dad was always best at these things,” he says, looking at the ground. But then he looks up at her and smiles, “But of course, I should’ve known you would get back on your feet again.”
He gestures at her private office. “And now, you’re in the International Division for Reconciliation. Maybe one day, they’ll give you an assignment to Africa and you can visit.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she smiles.
“Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the wife. She wants me to pick up milk on the way home,” he says rolling his eyes. “I live an utterly boring and mundane life.”
“And you love it,” she says.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell her that. She may use that against me.” But Ron has a goofy grin on his face and adds, “But I may like that too.”
Ginny makes a face at him and Ron laughs. “Have fun tonight,” he says as he walks out the door. “But remember, Sunday brunch at the Burrow.”
“I’ll be there,” she says with a wave.
***
She likes walking through Muggle London. And in the summer months, there is a certain hour between light and dark that she enjoys the most. The tourists are not clogging the streets and filling the air with their loud sounds and clicking away with their picture-taking devices and the night revelers have yet to creep out in the street. She knows it is uncharitable to want beauty without noise, but then she knows that is possible too.
The sun is setting but it is still light enough for her to look at the brochure she had received. She doesn’t usually get mailings from the Tate group and though she enjoys museums, she does not frequent them. But in any case, this has been a stroke of luck because the new exhibit is “Seeing Africa” and it makes her feel a little closer to Draco just thinking about it.
She has been reading about Africa in Muggle history books and newspapers. And Hermione had mentioned something called “internet.” Though she has not searched there yet, she knows enough about this once enigmatic place to assess the accuracy of the brochure. After all, she knows all too well that brochures can be deceiving.
In the dimming light, she reads: “These works were made between 1880 and 1960 during the colonial occupation of areas where European rule left a legacy of violence. But for most of the traveling European artists, the people they saw were simply part of a vista of African flora and fauna.”* She frowns while glancing at the crossway. It tells her to look right. She checks for cars and then crosses.
The passage is accurate. But it doesn’t mean she is happy with the content and she wonders if it hadn’t been for Draco, she would’ve thought the same thing too. That these people are merely part of the “flora and fauna,” as it is worded. Her frown deepens a little. Could she have really walked through Sierra Leone and not have noticed? She shakes her head. She doesn’t think it is possible.
She is walking along the river and intends to cross at Lambeth Bridge and go south to the Tate Britain. It is generally busy near the bridge with autos at the roundabout. But the view of the river and the House of Parliament is impressive and she takes a moment to look at it as the lights on the building begin to illuminate the ornate architecture.
She reads a little more: “These works pose complex questions about representation, about the interplay between artist, subject and viewer, and about the role of the artist within a fragile social and political environment. The works can be viewed in several contradictory ways - as a historical exercise in colonial propaganda, as a network of romantic illusions, as a valiant attempt to grasp the essence of another culture, or even as a transcendent vision of beauty.”* She likes what it says here and with a nod, she slides the brochure into her jacket pocket and walks with quicker steps towards the museum. She wants to see if these paintings will show what the brochure has promised, what she knows is true of the heart of Africa.
But when she walks in, her eyes are automatically drawn to the map of the world that stretches across one wall of the room. And she walks towards it instead of the other paintings that are actually part of the exhibit. But she cannot see the African continent because a man is standing in front of it. And even from behind, she can tell it is Draco. Her heart skips a beat - several - and she fondly thinks, “Of course that prat is blocking my view.”
He is not staring at the map with that faraway look she is familiar with. Instead, he is frowning down at his starch white shirt. And it makes her smiles as he scratches his chest through the Oxford. She must agree, she prefers his old shirt.
She is reaching for his shoulder when he says, “I was wondering when you would come,” so instead of touching him, she stands beside him.
He is clean-shaven and dressed well, in a collared shirt tucked into black pants, and she finds this odd. She is sure most people would assume Draco Malfoy would look well put-together but this is not the Draco Malfoy she knows.
“How did you know I would come?”
He rolls his eyes. “I sent you the bloody brochure.”
Ginny stares at him.
“Close your mouth. You look like a fish,” he chastises.
“Would that matter?” she asks, nonetheless closing her mouth the moment she stops speaking.
“No, of course not. But I would have to look at it all the time,” he snaps.
As his words sink in, she blinks at him, concerned that this is all a dream. “Are you’re going to stay here?”
“No,” he says firmly and immediately. Of course it would be too good to be true. “I have to go back. I can’t leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And you can’t leave yet either.” He turns to her to face her head on for the first time and his silver storm eyes look steadily at her.
She never wants to stop looking at those eyes but she forces herself to bite her lower lip and query, “But you’re here? Did something happen?”
“Tobias,” he sneers. “He was caught smuggling diamonds.”
“Oh!” She has not read this yet but then she remembers the stack of newspapers piling up by the door of her flat the she has meant to read this weekend.
“I’ve been called to the trial. They said they would put me up in a hotel room but I made a deal with them. I would find my own accommodations if they donated the money to a fund for the sanctuary.” He is looking at her expectantly but she does not blush and look away.
“Of course,” she says, nodding. She wants to ask if it feels hot in the room or say something about the white walls but it sounds stupid and uninspired in her head. And then she ends up saying something equally asinine anyway. “Anything else new?”
He arches a blond eyebrow. “I formally adopted Sheku.” The boy without any arms. She knew he had favored him.
“Wonderful,” she says. “You’ll teach him all of your charms, I’m sure.”
“Are you accusing me of being charming?” he asks, making a face.
She laughs. Leave it to Draco to go against the grain. Merlin, she misses him. And wonders if she will miss him even more when he leaves this time around. “How long do I have you for?”
He tilts his head. “Forever.”
And she wants to sob. She touches the ribbon around her finger. It has become a reflexive reaction whenever she needs comfort. Even though he is standing right in front of her. “No, really.” No jokes. They can’t joke about this. “You said you can’t stay.”
“No. But you can come see me.”
“Draco…” she begins but he interrupts her harshly. “You are a witch, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes…” she replies uncertainly.
“You have a wand, at the very least,” he says, rolling his eyes.
Someone comes up to look at the map but Draco will not budge. Ginny shifts to give the other woman room. But she is not really looking at the map but at Draco, batting her long eyelashes at him. Ginny glares at this intrusive blond and steps towards Draco.
“But you know I can’t take a wand abroad. There are rules,” she whispers, feeling irrationally smug about standing so close to him. It’s not like she owned him. But she does want to tell that woman that yes, he is a fantastic shag, the best, well…the only, but she shakes herself a little before continuing on. “And I just-”
The woman is glaring back at her. And Ginny stops to give her her most menacing look.
She hears Draco sigh. “Are you part of this conversation or not? Or have you had a change in preference that you need to inform me about?”
Ginny turns back. “No!” Her voice echoes in the white room and she blushes. “Ergh,” she huffs in frustration. “I could’ve shouted in the forest all I wanted.”
“Well, I know that,” Draco says smugly.
She really blushes this time around and tries to shift back to their previous conversation. “You need permission to Apparate internationally.”
Draco rolls his eyes. “And what department do you work in now?”
“Well, I…” Oh. “It’s certainly easier for me to do it but it’ll be illegal.”
“Then change the laws, Weasley. Or break them. Come and dally on the other side with me for a while.” He smirks at her. She is sure she looks very tempted to take his invitation because she is. “We work during the day anyway. What do you do at nights? Go to museum exhibits all the time? You can spend the nights with me. I have a hammock now,” he says, winking. “And I might be convinced to share it. And I don’t know, I’ll take a holiday once in a while. I guess England is not such a bad place around Christmas time but have you ever been to Wales? Wales is a white dream during Christmas. I’m sure Sheku would like to see it, too.”
She looks at him though he is no longer looking at her. He is staring at the map, with his hands in his pocket, his silver eyes looking over the plane of land and water. He doesn’t belong in this sterile room, she thinks. She doesn’t realize she has actually said this out-loud until he asks, “Where do I belong then?”
“At home.”
“And where’s that?”
“In Sierra Leone,” she replies in a whisper. “And with me.”
Draco smiles. He had been looking sour all this while but now, he is clearly happy though he hasn’t turned to look at her yet. But it doesn’t matter. It is enough to make her happy too.
“This will work,” he says, nodding. “As long as we’re both willing to make it work.”
And she laughs. And then she smiles. “Who would’ve thought you, a Malfoy, would be so adamant about working?” And she takes the few steps to close the distance between them and she wraps her arms around him. And this time - unlike that day over two years ago when she did the same thing at the marketplace in Sierra Leone - he does the same. She whispers the Krio phrase he had taught her into his chest, “A de go na os.”
And she looks up, expecting him to be looking at the map of the world still, but instead, his rainstorm eyes are entirely focused on her.
* quoted directly from Tate Britain - Seeing Africa, About
**A de go na os: “I am going home”
The End
Appendix: These are the sites I referred to in my research for this fic. I encourage you to look at them if you are curious and form your own opinion about Sierra Leone and the need there.
Wikipedia - Sierra Leone: http://fienabler.livejournal.com/7386.html
Wikitravel - Sierra Leone: http://wikitravel.org/en/Sierra_Leone
BBC News Country Profile: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/country_profiles/1061561.stm
BBC Timeline: Sierra Leone: (WARNING! Picture of child amputee) http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/country_profiles/1065898.stm
CIA World Factbook: https://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/sl.html
Sierra Leone Encyclopedia 2006: http://www.daco-sl.org/encyclopedia/
LivefromFreetown: http://www.livefromfreetown.com/
Visit Sierra Leone: www.visitsierraleone.org
Krio words and phrases: http://www.visitsierraleone.org/krio.asp
The Environmental Foundation for Africa: http://www.efasl.org.uk/
Conservation International: http://www.conservation.org/xp/frontlines/species/06220601.xml
Notes from Sierra Leone(for Moa picture photos and quote): http://www.greenebean.com/julie/sierraleone.html
BBC Weather - Sierra Leone: http://www.bbc.co.uk/weather/world/country_guides/results.shtml?tt=TT000540
Sierra Leone Web(for aerial photos of Freetown and children at play photo): http://www.sierra-leone.org/
Salone Scrapbook (for rainy season and sunset photos): http://hypertextbook.com/eworld/photos.shtml
Tate Britain: Seeing Africa: http://www.tate.org.uk/britain/exhibitions/seeingafrica/default.shtm
And the knowledge on London was all my own…but I still won’t make any money from this, despite promoting the view from Lambeth Bridge.
And of course, I’ve just used Draco and Ginny for my own pleasure…and hopefully yours too!
It was pointed out to me that the bunny with fangs idea could be attributed to Monty Python or the Bunnicula Series by James Howe but really, I got it from the vampire bat bear (yes, a vampire bat bear) I have. Denon Wing (named after that particular portion of the Louvre) was sitting on my bed while I was writing this, but I changed it from bear to bunny because how cute is the image of a little blond Malfoy running around with the long ears of his bunny slippers dragging on the marble floors? Yeah, I thought so. ;)
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: A few years after Voldemort's defeat, D & G happen to meet under odd circumstances. & you can take it from there. :)
The tone/mood of the fic: Slightly angsty fluff.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: A ribbon of any colour but green.
Canon or AU? Canon.
Rating of the the fic you want: PG-13.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Harry/Hermione. OOCness.