The Midnight Hour

Twenty minutes before the midnight hour, two sullen forms stood at opposite ends of a crowded room, each nursing their drinks; his green and hers a brilliant orange. Their eyes met for a moment and both turned away, determined to ignore the other's presence.

The man's cold eyes were steely grey and hard set. He stood languidly, leaning against a wall, appearing to all others as though he merely wished to not participate in the joyful celebration surrounding him. His green drink stood out in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin and the deep black of his robes. His fine hair fell forward into his eyes, partially obscuring his face as he took another sip and surveyed the room lazily. The merriment caused a look of contempt to pass over his countenance until his gaze came to rest again on the lady across the room. For one moment his demeanor changed slightly, looking almost repentant before being immediately replaced by a cool look of disdain.

The woman, though not showing it on her face, did not miss his lingering gaze. Her eyes remained fixed on her sunrise colored drink and watched as the cool liquid swirled within the glass. Unlike her counterpart, her feelings were much easier to discern. She sat in a simple chair, her shoulders slumped forward. Curtains of blazing hair framed her face and grazed her thighs as she leaned into her lap. So evident was her misery that a black cloud seemed to shroud her small corner of the festively decorated room.

All around them, partygoers laughed and danced and kissed, joyously ringing in the New Year. But for this man and this woman, celebration was a foreign concept.

Slowly, the man gracefully left the wall upon which he had been so carelessly reclining and began to make his way through the dancing couples. For a brief, shining moment, the woman had a look of hopeful anticipation upon her lovely features, only to have it removed when he moved out of sight in the crowds of people.

The woman forlornly returned to her drink looking as though the last ray of hope had left her body. Her eyes lost whatever emotion had been present in them before and became blank brown pools, reflecting only what was going on around her. Silently, she sat down her drink and moved to rise from the chair. As soon as she started, an icy cold hand gripped her wrist to hold her in place.

Gradually, she raised her gaze to see her own watery eyes reflected in his mirror-like ones. She penetrated the glass of his eyes and saw the truth behind them. Regret. Sorrow. Pain. Apology.

She returned his emotions with her own. Hurt. Anger. Despair. Forgiveness.

Gently, eyes firmly latched onto hers, he raised her hand to his lips and lightly brushed her knuckles with a soft kiss. Without releasing her hand, the man finally breathed out a single word. A whispered name.

"Virginia."

And that breath resounded with feeling. He couldn't have expressed more with words if he had spent the next thousand years speaking without stop. His eyes bore great apology into her own, willing her to understand.

"Virginia." He spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. "Let's go home."

Ginny stared back at his face, which was filled with concern and regret, in such opposition to his previous look of nonchalance. His features were softened by the emotion, and she forgave him. Whatever injustice he had caused her in the past, whatever he had done earlier that day, whatever pain he might cause her in the future, she would always forgive him.

For Ginny had long ago given her heart to this man and knew that with that came complications and heartache. But to see his icy fortress melt away little by little, it was worth it. Virginia Malfoy grasped the hand of her husband more firmly and whispered, "Yes, love, let's go home."

Hands linked together, Draco and Ginny left the crowded ballroom, barely noticing the chiming of the clock, and the new year that it brought with it.