Draco's Diary (It's Our Secret, Beloved)

Two - The Knight-Errant Returns

Yearn On - A Poem by Katie Donovan

I want you to feel
the unbearable lack of me.

I want your skin
to yearn for the soft lure of mine;

I want those hints of red
on your canvas
to deepen in passion for me:
carmine, burgundy.

I want you to keep
stubbing your toe
on the memory of me;
I want your head to be dizzy
and your stomach in a spin;
I want you to hear my voice
in your ear, to touch your face
imagining it is my hand.

I want your body to shiver and quiver
at the mere idea of mine.

I want you to feel as though
life after me is full, and pointless,
and very, very aggravating;
that with me you were lifted
on a current you had waited all your life to find,
and had despaired of finding,
As though you were wading
through a soggy swill of inanity and ugliness
every minute we are apart.

I want you to drive yourself crazy
with the fantasy of me,
and how we will meet again, against all odds,
and there will be tears and flowers,
and the vast relief of not I,
but us.

I am haunting your dreams,
conducting these fevers
from a distance,
a distance that leaves me weeping,
and storming,
and bereft.

Ottery-St. Catchpole, 17 March 2004

'He's not coming, is he?'

St. Patrick's Day had dawned; bringing steel grey clouds and sheets of rain that washed away any hope Ginny felt. The clouds were the exact same colour as his eyes.

She tried hard not to think of his eyes.

'I don't know, sis,' Ron admitted.

'Or maybe he came at night, and left before anyone could see him?' she suggested.

'You never know, he is a Malfoy,' Fred grumbled.

Ginny rounded on him angrily. 'Why are you here and not off in London seeing to your shop?'

Fred shrugged. 'I figured we need one Weasley with sense enough to see that ferret for what he really is.'

'Fred?' Ginny said sweetly.

'Yes, Gin?'

'Bugger off.'

Fred got to his feet with much huffing and puffing, obviously angry.

'Don't forget, Ginny,' he spat, 'I warned you when you started going out with that creep that he would break your heart sooner or later. Let's just say I saved it for an "I told you so" today.'

Ginny closed her eyes, trying to ignore him.

'That letter was a dagger, Gin,' Fred continued, his voice trembling. 'He really knew what buttons to press to make you sob like a little girl. If you go back to him with open arms, he'll do it to you all over again. Can you deal with that; can you handle having your heart ripped out again?' His voice had reached a dangerously low pitch. It always happened when Fred was experiencing intense emotions. His voice dropped to a few degrees below zero and was weighted with lead.

'Go back to London.' Ginny's tone rang hollowly in the kitchen.

Ron glanced warily at his brother and grimaced as the older man Apparated, his face contorted with pain and anger.

'He was only trying to help, Ginny,' said Ron.

'He can help by keeping his nose out of it,' Ginny rejoined.

Ron gave his sister a sad smile. 'Ginny, chicken, you've been here since six this morning waiting for him,' he said gently. 'Don't you think you should give it a rest?'

'You give it a rest, Ronald Bilius!' Ginny snapped.

Startled, Ron got to his feet. 'I'm meeting Hermione before work,' he said, his voice chilly. 'Good morning.'

He Apparated, leaving Ginny quite alone in the kitchen. Her mother had gone to meet some old friends in the village; her father was already at work.

'I've been like a bag of cats these last few days,' she thought. 'I'll be nicer to them. It's not their fault.'

The rain sounded in a dull monotone against the stone of the house and the sky darkened as the clouds grew thicker. Thunder growled from the hills nearby, advancing with strobe-effect lightning.

Ginny sighed and curled up on the battered sofa in the living room, facing the window. The thick rain that clung to the glass like oil blurred the panes of glass, and Ginny shivered in the cold air.

'Incendio,' she muttered, igniting the fireplace with a flick of her wand.

The room flooded with warmth, and Ginny dozed off, lumps of foam from the bursting couch clinging to her red tresses.

She dreamed.

She was running through a field of white heather.

Lucky white heather.

White like Draco's hair.

Just as she thought of this, a hooded figure walked towards her. Ragged transparent wings hung from its back, trailing amongst the swaying heather.

'If you really love something,' it whispered, 'set it free, if it comes back it's yours, if it doesn't it was never meant to be.'

'But I did set him free, and he's not coming back!' Ginny wailed.

'Trust yourself. He will.'

Ginny felt the ground give way beneath her, but she was not frightened. Nothing could harm her in this world. She was falling through soft, scented heather into blissful darkness, the kind of sleep that feels as though you have dropped out of existence for hours at a stretch, only to wake what feels like moments later, startled.

Ginny awoke in just such a state. There were two candles in pewter holders on the table, roughly a metre apart, and two roses, one red and the other white, lying side by side in between them. They were tied with a silver ribbon.

'Draco,' she gasped.

He had pulled this very stunt for their first anniversary together. She came home to their apartment and found the roses and candles, with Draco nowhere in sight. He had returned moments after she sat down, showering her with kisses and murmurs of love.

The room was dark, the flames from the candles casting only a little light amongst the gloom. The fire was extinguished, probably by Draco, and the storm still raged outside.

Ginny stretched and forced her weary limbs to move. She got to her feet and picked up her wand.

'Lumos,' she commanded it. 'Now, you great blonde moron,' she muttered. 'Let's find you.'

She collided full-force with a shadowy figure and raised her wand, ready to hex the intruder into oblivion.

'Moron?' the trespasser said, surprised. 'I believe my name is Draco.'