A Night the Stars Didn't Shine

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...Better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all...

Would you leave me if, when I fall to the ground?

Will you still love me every time I am down?

Will you help me up and put my arm into you?

Because I want to do what you want me to do.

~ Everyday Sunday, Would you Leave?

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Would you leave if the Sun hid its face?

It was raining outside, warm and hard. Ginny Weasley wiped her eyes, shielding them from the pouring sheets. It was spring already; the end of the year, as hard it was to believe. She could see students with their heads bent, bustling, trying to board the train as soon as possible. Ginny herself stood by the red brick arch in the Hogsmead station, leaning on the wet stone on the outside. She didn't know why she was waiting and watching as the passengers boarded the train, but here she was, soaked to the bone, hair and clothes wet with rain. She couldn't help but feel sad and gloomy. She wiped some rain off her forehead with her robe sleeve but it didn't help much.

"You wouldn't be crying, would you?"

She turned around and looked. Draco Malfoy was smirking behind her, his silver hair parted from the pounding rain and plastered to his head. Some stuck over his ears. He was soaked too, his wet robe glued to his perfect body.

"No," she said, stepping into the shelter that the arch offered, "Why would I be crying?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because it's the end of the year. I dunno. Je ne suis pas vous," he said in a flawless French accent.

Students hurried by, some wailing, some laughing, all of them talking loudly. But to Ginny, they weren't there, it was just her and Draco.

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, to herself more than anyone else, stepping closer to him.

"It means, 'I am not you', at least, I think that's what it means. I heard some Ravenclaw prefect girl recite it from a book and thought that it sounded really cool."

She laughed a little in spite of herself. "Well, I can't say that this has been an uneventful year," she said, thinking about all that had happened to her and him, in the last six months. He nodded in agreement, unspeakably happy that she was talking to him.

Behind Draco, thunder sounded and lightening crackled across the sky, happening almost at the same time. The warm spring rain intensified.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the train, its engine roaring and streaming. She shrugged. "I kind of like it out here," she said, gesturing to the station. The rain, if possible, poured harder. It seemed to be encouraging her to board the train, but Ginny was perfectly happy out here with Draco. He raised his eyebrow at her response as he grabbed her hand and, literally, dragged her onto the train as it began to move.

Laughing loudly, Draco let go of her hand. The train door slammed behind Ginny with a crash and the sidewalk moved faster and faster as she tried in vain to ignore the tingling sensation that his touch had left her with, tried to omit the rare tingle in his gray eyes. The train lurched forward, gaining speed. Ginny was rocked from her feet and slammed forward on the wet hall floor, her hands out in front of her. An awkward silence followed. From her view on the floor, Ginny studied everything in the train hallway but refused to let her eyes acknowledge the man studying her.

After a few moments of silence, Draco broke it, saying, "Well, I'll see you later, Weasley." He pivoted on his heels and walked down the hall. His head was bent and water dripped of the tips of his hair and down his sopping wet cloak, which dragged on the floor.

"Wait!" she yelled as she scrambled up the steps and down the hall, the carpet soaked with wet footsteps. He turned, his nimble hand running through his wet hair. His eyes held the unanswered questions that buzzed around in Ginny's head. Why were they acting so friendly? Why was nobody reprimanding them for talking?

Draco walked down to where she was just standing up. Her wet ponytail weighed her head down; one large bunch of saturated hair that fell to the middle of her back. She took off her cloak and squeezed the water out of it. The drops fell down onto the red carpet and splattered, unable to absorb any more water. She draped it over her arm casually.

"What?" he asked. Ginny shrugged helplessly, unable to form a reasonable excuse. "Look, Weasley, as much as I want to talk to you, I can't. You said so yourself, luv, and for once, you're right. I'll see you around, ok?" he asked.

"What?!" Ginny exclaimed angrily. "Aren't you the reason that this whole matter started in the first place? You're the one that started talking to me first! And so what if I said don't talk to me ever again!? It's the end of the school year, Draco, no one, save Ron, will care if we talk.

For that last month, I have obsessed over your sketchbook, looked at you in the halls and at dinner and at Quidditch. I have never felt happier when I looked at you, and you know why that is? It's because I'm in love! I fell in love with you! I said that we couldn't be together because we can't, but we can still talk, can't we?"

He shook his head, disappointed. "Ginny, believe me when I say I feel the same way. But who knows what innocent 'talking' will get us in to? You know either of us won't protest," he said, inching closer and closer to Ginny.

"Look, Ginny, forget about me. Forget about this year and everything that's happened between you and me, forget about your painting of me, forget about my sketchbook. Just forget it all. Come back next year and find someone else to love and love back. Be happy. Smile. Don't think about me," he said coldly. The rain pounded harder on the roof of the car, its echo blaring in the hall.

Ginny was officially confused; Draco was talking as if he was going to kill himself. He was talking as if he was going leave and never return.

"I don't want to forget about you," she said childishly and pleadingly.

"Please, Ginny. It's better if you do forget about all of this. Don't worry, luv. I hate it when you're not happy, especially when it's my fault." His eyes held desperation, love, and care, but his face was firm and stubborn. He reminded Ginny of a caring parent who had trouble punishing their child, but whose morale interfered with love.

"Draco, I'm happy with you. Please, stop talking like this," she said desperately, clamping her hands over her ears. Draco looked at her sadly. She had no idea what this made him feel like, what he was going to do. Gently but firmly, he removed her wet hands from their hold over her ears and held them in his. His head bent low as if he was going to kiss her, but he didn't. He knew what would happen; he knew that it would only serve to break his heart. Instead, he leaned close to her ear, hands held by his chest as if, if she let go, he would fall. Ginny wanted to scream in frustration and anger.

"I'm always with you," he said, speaking into her hot red ears, "You just won't always see me."

He looked at her one last time and disappeared down the corridor.

~

Ginny was numb with shock and confusion. The sky was almost black outside and the lights in the hallway had been turned on, casting a gilded glow on everything in the hall. She walked with heavy steps to an empty compartment two cars down from where she had came. She shut the door firmly behind her and looked through the window, down the hall, as if Draco was going to come back.

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come to her eyes. 'I'm all cried out', she decided as she sat close to the window and stared out, depressed. The rain pelted the windowpane; the sky was as gray as her mood. She leaned her head onto the glass, her warm forehead flesh contradicting with the cold pane.

"I can't forget him," she told herself. "I won't."

'I'm always with you.' Draco's words came back to her as she stared out into the bleak countryside as the train sped its way back to Kings Cross Station. She questioned them; he had left her moments ago.

'Would you leave me if the sun hid its face in shame?'

she wondered. 'Would you abandon me if the sky fell down? Would you catch me if I fell? Would you hold me in your arms and say it's all ok if I was scared?' She groped around in her bag and came across a parchment, quill, and ink well. She began to scribble down the confused and desperate thoughts. She knew that she was being sappy, but she didn't care. These were her most desolate wonderings.

'Would you dry my tears with your hands and kiss away my fears? Would you fly with me to the moon and swim with me in the sea? Would your eyes be strayed by a prettier girl or a smarter woman? Would you leave me here to cry?'

She smiled sheepishly as she read what she had written; she sounded so romantically helpless. She felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard. She rolled her eyes, acting as if the parchment and the feelings written on it were nothing to her, stuffing it in her bag. Her hand brushed the cover of the one book that she kept with her all the time, Draco's sketchbook.

'I will not forget about him,' she vowed firmly, renewed hope, determination, and general stubbornness forming inside her body, in the very center of her heart. She stood up to use the loo and left the parchment on the seat.

For the rest of the entire trip, she stared out the window, into the gray sky, and couldn't help thinking how much they resembled Draco's steely eyes.

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One year later...

"So good to be home when you can stay up late and sleep in for hours," Ginny yawned loudly, stretching her arms out wide behind her. She was at the kitchen table of her parent's house, the summer after she had graduated. The warm summer sun shone through the windows and shone on her arms and legs. She pulled the bottom of her short peach pajama tanktop down so that it covered the top of her matching bottoms, short shorts. She brushed her straight red hair out of eyes as she read over the note on the counter.

Ginny -

We're out of root of tree again, so I have to go to Diagon Alley for awhile. Don't worry, dear, I'll pick up some canvases and new paint for you. Thank goodness your father got promoted. Your father's at work, and Harry and Ron are out in the lawn, practicing Quidditch. They've been out there since 9, I do hope that they're ok. There are some scones and some raspberry jam on the counter if you get hungry. I shall be back around 4:30.

Love, Mum

She took the whistling kettle off the fire, bewitching it to float over to her with her wand. She carefully poured the boiling water into a white, glazed ceramic mug, painted angels dancing around the cup and added some sugar to the steaming water. She grabbed a lemon tea bag out of the cupboard and dunked it into the steamy sugar water.

As she waited for her tea to cool down, she sat down and looked at the Daily Prophet that lay open on the table, delivered sometime earlier. She skimmed the headlines slowly as she lifted the cup to her lips. An article in the 'Human Interest' section caught her eye as she drank her tea. Furthermore, the picture that was included in it. She swallowed with great difficulty, a large lump developing in her throat. The article was titled:

"Prominent Wizard's Son Missing; Presumed Dead."

Ginny dropped the mug and it fell to the floor with a crash. She grasped the paper with trembling hands.

"Ginny?" Ron asked, walking into the kitchen through the side door, still in his violent orange practice robes, his Firebolt held in his left arm. Harry followed him, dressed in robes of white and navy blue; his Triton slung over his shoulder. (The Triton broomstick was designed by Ron's girlfriend, Hermoine. It had a better arrow-dynamic design, easier control, and was easier to take care of. She had given one to Harry on his birthday. Ron, of course, had one, but he used Harry's old Firebolt, which he bought for twenty-five galleons last year from him, as a practice broom.) Harry was staying at their house for a couple weeks over the summer as Ron's guest. He and Harry were sweating hard and red from practice. He leaned his broom against the doorframe and walked over to his little sister, avoiding the broken ceramic that littered the floor. Ginny stared at the article, shocked.

Draco Malfoy

, it read, son of the prominent Lucius Malfoy, was reported missing Thursday by former classmate, Blaise Zabini, noted fashion designer and model. Her connection or knowledge of Draco is unknown at the moment, but has been taken in by the Ministry for questioning. Lucius Malfoy offered no comment, spurring intrigue and suspicions all over the wizarding world. Mr. Malfoy Senior is funding the investigation, saying only that, "Draco has much need to me right now."

Draco Malfoy was last seen on July 15 leaving King Cross Station in muggle London as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Muggle passengers saw him leave, and then he was gone, mingling with the children and their families as they left the train. His current whereabouts are unknown.

The article went on to describe what he looked like, which Ginny had already memorized, and a number to which to contact the Ministry by.

"Serves him right. I knew he had it coming. Nobody can be that rotten to anyone and honestly expect to live very long," Ron declared. Harry agreed and pointed out that there was a handsome reward if you had information about him. "Where?" Ron asked. Harry leaned over and brushed Ginny's shoulder, pointing at the bottom. The amount was very large. Ginny, however, took no notice that they were even talking. 'Draco... missing... June 15...' the thoughts all jumbled in her head, mixed with feelings of sadness, loneliness, and grief.

Heartbreak.

"Can I take this, you guys?" she asked, turning around and looking at the two boys that stood behind her, her red curls swishing around her head. "I mean, you won't need it or anything, right?" The picture of Malfoy looked at her quizzically. The both shook their heads, baffled.

"Good," she said, then apparated up to her room.

She landed on her cream-colored bed, biting back tears. 'Draco is gone,' she thought sadly. 'Disappeared, presumed dead,' she thought, looking at the Draco in the picture. His head was tilted up, his hair slicked back; he looked like he did back in school. Ginny felt a new wave of tears and a lump in her throat.

She couldn't help thinking what had happened on June fifteen, where she had been. June fifteen was the day that she had came home after graduation. She had arrived home only two weeks ago and gotten, so the memory was still fresh in her head.

She had been getting off the train, toting large canvassed packages of paintings, as well as her old brown trunk and cauldron. Her trunk weighed a ton and Ginny struggled with it and wrestled with the many canvasses and her heavy cauldron. She remembered that she had difficulty finding her family, because they sat down in a muggle café across the street and had lost track of the time. She remembered feeling helpless in the Station as she watched people go by, but none of them with red hair and cinnamon freckles.

She remembered a hurried man in a gray suit and light blonde hair - almost white - pushing from behind her and turning, seeing her family as they ran to greet her. She remembered Fred and George's eyes growing large as the looked at all that she carried, and them complaining loudly as they carted her trunk. She remembers laughing at them and bumping into a teenage boy, her stuff falling on the floor.

The boy looked to be a muggle skateboarder, with baggy black jeans that had a chain on the side of them, and a black shirt with a muggle band on it, one she had never heard of. He was handsome, in an odd way, with midnight black hair which he kept under a baseball cap, turned backwards, and light-colored eyes. He smiled as he watched her stuff fall, and then bent down and picked it all up for her. He smiled at her, his gray eyes lighting up.

They drove home in Ministry cars because Ginny had not yet learned how to apparate. She remembered the big dinner with Harry and Hermoine they had enjoyed that night, celebrating the last to graduate.

...Gray eyes, that boy that had bumped into her had gray eyes... Ginny looked up, across her bed, to where her paintings hung. 'Draco has gray eyes,' she thought, a picture of him sprouting up in her head. 'Had gray eyes, I suppose,' she said, as tears welled up in her own brown ones. 'Maybe that was him,' she pondered. She shook her head. "No, he had black hair."

"Who had black hair, Gin? Harry?" Ron asked, standing by her dresser, admiring a particular design with interest. The drawing, framed on her wall, was a fairy with a small amount of clothes and a perfect physique. Ginny shook her head, hurriedly wiping the tears from her eyes. In the background, she could hear water running, and supposed that Harry was taking a shower.

She vaguely noted that Ron had apparently apparated into her room without her permission.

"No, Ron," she said, trying to not worry about her voice cracking. "That boy that bumped into me at the station. The one with the large pants and the baseball cap?"

"Oh him! Yeah, I think he had black hair, I couldn't really see under the cap. A real punk, don't you think?" he asked. Ginny smiled a little at remembering his eyes. He had deep, beautiful eyes.

"Actually," she said, smiling sadly, her eyes gazing over to her guardian angel painting, "I thought he was a bit on the cute side."

Ron gawked. "Yeah right!" he declared. "That boy is about as good looking as... Draco Malfoy is! Or... er... was," he ended awkwardly. He glanced at his sister, surprised to see her biting her lip, hard. She looked like she was about to cry. "Uh... so... Ginny! Who's that painting of, by the way, you never told me!" he said with feigned enthusiasm, even though the question had been tormenting him for the last two weeks since she had been home.

"Oh," she said faintly, looking up. "That's my guardian angel," she told him, and then looked out the window.

"Guardian angel? Ginny, is there something that you're not telling us? You're not going to convert Christianity, are you?" he asked.

Ginny forgot to laugh.

"Ron, you can believe in angels without becoming a Christian, can't you?" she asked, not thinking about converting, but instead about how much that picture resembled Draco. Perhaps she should name him Draco as a small memorial. Beside, Ron would turn such a lovely shade of red...

Ron shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Why don't you ask Hermoine? You can always refer to Hermoine if you can't answer a question. Besides, you can't find this answer in a book!" Ron shrugged again. "Well... at least it's an angel and not Malfoy."

"What are you doing in my room anyway, Ron?" Ginny asked suddenly. She had just realized this was her room, not his. He looked at her and thought. "I wanted to check up on you. You seemed a little... disturbed... when you found out that Malfoy had died. Gone missing, I mean - when he had gone missing."

"Oh, I did? Sorry, and thanks for caring. Anyways... what's wrong with Malfoy? Or... what was wrong with Malfoy?" Ron gaped at his sister's sudden memory loss. But before he could answer, there was a knock on Ginny's door. "Come in," they both said at the same time. Ginny glared at Ron; he wasn't supposed to let other people in, it was her room, after all.

Harry Potter, wet hair plastered to his head and a red towel with a fraying gold boarder wrapped around his waist. Ginny was unfazed; she even forgot to blush. After six brothers, seeing the boy-who-lived sopping wet in a towel was no different.

"Hullo Harry," she said vaguely, looking at a propped painting on the floor. It was a portrait of Draco that she had painted last year that hid behind Percy's old dresser drawers. He was in his green and silver Slytherin robes, with his hair back and he was staring off somewhere. Ginny had only managed to get a quick sketch before he turned directions, but it was all she needed. He didn't look soft, or vulnerable, not like that winter night. He looked superior to everyone else, and arrogant, but his eyes; his eyes held a distant sadness. She had seen it all year long, even when he no longer attended school.

Harry was saying something, but Ginny wasn't hearing anything. He walked by the painting, not noticing it. Harry had noticed her fairy picture and had stared at it for awhile with interest. Ron pulled him away, saying that Blaise, his new girlfriend, wouldn't be happy with the way that he was looking at it. Harry laughed and said Ron probably looked at it the same way. Averting the question, he pointed out to Harry Ginny's picture of her guardian angel. He was talking to Ron, and they were talking about how much her guardian angel looked like Draco Malfoy, their hated and loathed enemy. Ron was pointing at it, and Harry, who was trailing water through her room, was shaking his head, trying to convince him that it was someone who just happened to look like Draco. Little drops of water splattered in different directions.

Ginny reached behind her and grabbed a pillow, curling it in her arms and hugging it tightly. She sighed softly into it, so that Harry and Ron wouldn't hear it. They wouldn't understand what was wrong. They wouldn't understand why she was in love with Draco; they wouldn't understand all she had been through last year and the torture she had gone through this year knowing he wasn't there. They wouldn't understand how empty she was feeling, how helpless she was.

They couldn't comfort what they didn't comprehend.

With Harry and Ron still arguing whether her angel was Draco or not, she left. She apparated down to her gnome-free backyard. It was around one in the afternoon, and the sun was bright. The sky was bright blue and there was a light breeze in the air. She sat under the tall oak tree that led to the entrance of the small forest behind their house. Tears flowed out of her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Silent sobs racked her body as she drew her knees up to her and hugged them. A feeling of loneliness dawned on her; Draco was gone. Missing or dead, it didn't matter, he was gone. She was on her own right now.

A small gust of warm air blew past her, blowing her hair out in front of her. She looked up from her knees, her eyes, bloodshot. It wiped the tears from her eyes and surrounded Ginny, a ghost Draco hugging her close. "I'm always with you," it whispered in her ear, "You just won't always see me." And then it left her.

Ginny didn't feel so alone.