He Never Said Goodbye

"Where were you last night?"

The accusation in the oft-repeated phrase rang around the tiny kitchen and caused Ginny's eardrums to pound as though Seamus had shouted it. She knew what the underlying question was: "Who were you with last night?"

Ginny straightened her shoulders and turned to face Seamus, her mug of steaming tea held like a grenade in front of her. "My apartment is no longer your home. Anyway, I was under the impression that where I go is no longer your concern," she said, surprised at how cool and indifferent her voice sounded.

"We're not divorced yet," hissed Seamus.

"Well, we're not exactly married." She made to move past Seamus but he grabbed her arm without warning, causing her to spill her tea onto the shabby linoleum floor.

"Damn you, Ginevra," Seamus growled, "for being a blind and selfish fool."

Ginny stared at him, dumbstruck. It was the first time he had ever called her anything derogatory. It was the truth, she acknowledged it wholeheartedly, but it did sting. She knew he wasn't talking about her eyesight or her mental intelligence, but she did not want to consider the repercussions of what she knew he meant. She knew she was probably making ten thousand mistakes in one minute, but, frankly, she did not care one whit.

"You don't have to be so mean," she pouted, disengaging her arm from his grasp and stepping over the puddle of tea on the floor without giving it a single glance. She sashayed into the living room and set her mug onto the table without the benefit of a coaster.

"I will always care for you, Ginny." There was an undertone of anguish in Seamus's voice that ripped through Ginny like a knife, and guilt poured forth, staining her like blood.

"That's your problem, then, isn't it?" Ginny knew she was being cruel, and she didn't want to think why, but she felt safer with armour, be it of meanness or metal. She felt that Seamus's determination to prove her foolishness was a personal attack upon her soul. The fact that the attack was just and not lacking in substantial evidence made it even worse.

"I love you, Ginny." The anguish was quite apparent now.

Ginny did not dare to look up at him. Instead, she hunched over her tea, meticulously stirring it, and kept silent.

"I would have given you everything," Seamus continued, his voice breaking slightly. "I did give you everything, Ginny. All I had in my possession. My love, my trust, my hope ... everything that made me wealthy."

Ginny started to hyperventilate but remained mute. Why did her life have a tendency to self-destruct without her prior permission?

"You threw it all in my face, Ginny." He sounded as though he was on the verge of tears. "You purposefully threw it all back untouched."

Ginny began to shake. The spoon she had been stirring her tea with rattled against the sides of the mug and slipped out of her fingers. She had never been very good at dealing with guilt. She could never stomach more of it than a three-year-old child who had smashed a glass just to see what would occur. Was that what she had done with Seamus? Married him out of curiosity? Just to see how badly she could hurt him? How badly she could fuck up both their lives?

"I tried to help you, Ginny." Seamus's voice was quavering terribly. He suddenly looked extremely superfluous in Ginny's cluttered apartment; he had no right to cry here, when Ginny was about to fall apart. This was her own private space, she'd reserved it specially so she could fall apart any time she wanted. What was he doing, breaking down right there, without her permission?

Ginny's knees gave way and she dropped to the floor; she seemed to have been doing that a lot lately; her legs had always been rather weak, actually. She leaned her head against the table and stretched her legs in front of her; her hands lay pallid and trembling on her thighs.

Her whole life seemed to happen without her permission. She'd fallen to pieces about fifty times in her twenty-seven years. She had never been very good at dealing with anything, really. She was a coward if there ever was one. The Sorting Hat must've made a mistake when it placed her in Gryffindor.

"You just kept pushing me away, Ginny."

She finally cast half a glance at Seamus's face but instantly wished she hadn't. It was contorted with such grief and pain that Ginny never imagined she could cause. If the situation hadn't been so sombre, she would have felt rather flattered. As it was, she wanted to cry several hundred oceans and drown the universe. As it was, she remained extraordinarily selfish; she felt sorry for Seamus, yes, but she felt sorrier for herself. She reasoned that she must've been hurt pretty badly in her lifetime to have been able to give such pain to others.

And she immediately drowned her self-pity in self-loathing. She was just as cruel and selfish as Draco Malfoy. No wonder she'd always found him so attractive; they were inexplicably alike.

"Ginny ..." Seamus fell to his knees in front of her, his tone pleading, his eyes wide and overflowing with sorrowful pain. "Ginny ..."

Suddenly, Ginny was terrified. What was happening here? It was as though her brain had been switched off and she couldn't remember a single thing. She looked up at the man kneeling before her without comprehending who he was. He was murmuring something, a deep sadness weighing down his voice, distorting his features.

"Please, Ginny ... please ..." he whispered.

The sheer magnitude of his grief made Ginny impulsively reach out to him. His eyes held a question as he looked at her, as though for permission; Ginny cocked her head to one side, and, as though she had granted him the right, he grasped her hand in both of his and kissed it tenderly, tears glistening in his eyes.

Without warning, Ginny's brain was switched on again and everything came crashing back. Draco leaving her ten years ago ... Draco coming back the day before ... Draco taking her out ... Draco kissing her, holding her, chilling her to the bone ...

Her memories were flooded with Draco. There was nothing and no one but Draco; he was her crux, her terror, her insanity, her mistake, and her beloved. Draco never did anything with anyone's permission.

Her eyes widened in horror as she registered what was taking place before her and she wrenched her hand out of Seamus's grasp so forcefully she slammed her head against the side of the table.

Stars winked in front of her eyes, which watered in pain, but she rolled away from Seamus and scrambled to her feet.

"No!" she yelled when Seamus took a step towards her, arms outstretched. "No! Stay away from me!"

The closed look that slid onto his face at her words was perhaps even worse than his sadness and pain. Ginny felt she'd gone temporarily insane. Or maybe that escapade with Tom Riddle back in her first year at Hogwarts was what started it all? She no longer felt she had any control over herself. She wanted to run, jump, scream, laugh, cry - all at once and with incredible ferocity.

"I'll go now," said Seamus dully. "I just want you to know that I hold nothing against you. I'll come back in a while."

"I don't want you to ever come back!" Ginny screamed. "I HATE YOU!"

She looked and sounded positively wild; her hair was flying around her face as she swayed on the spot, her nostrils flaring, mouth stretched in a howl, eyes wide and devoid of rational thought.

It was perhaps this last element of her physiognomy that made Seamus stride over, clamp his hands firmly around her forearms and walk her, struggling and yelling, over to the sofa. He pushed her down onto it - "Let me go! I hate you!" - and released her just before she managed to sink her teeth into his arm.

Ginny knew she was acting like a complete madwoman and had no idea what demon had possessed her. She only knew that she really would go insane if Seamus didn't leave right now.

"GO AWAY!" she shrieked. "Leave me alone! Leave me alone!"

A part of her brain dully registered the fact that her words were probably costing Seamus a lot of pain and resolve, but she still didn't care. She just wanted him out of her sight so she could breathe and think normally again. She wasn't crying; the emotions raging within her were too raw and acute for her to be able to shed tears.

Seamus wanted to comfort her, but when Ginny screamed even louder he decided it would probably be safer for him to leave. He drew his wand out and wrapped Ginny's flailing form in bandages so that she wouldn't hurt herself in her current frenzy - he tried avoiding the thought that she looked like a lunatic mummy recently brought to life - and, after casting her a parting glance, he walked out of her apartment, magically locking the door behind him.


The first thing Ginny noticed when she drifted back to consciousness was a dull, throbbing pain in the back of her head. Sitting up, she realised that she was still on the sofa and loosely swathed in bandages. The pain in her head had been caused when she fell back onto the wooden arm of the sofa in her earlier wild struggles. She brushed the bandages off her body and left them lying in a pool of white on the floor by her feet.

She slumped against the back of the sofa and ran a hand through dishevelled, greasy hair, making a mental note to wash it later. She sighed and jumped at how loud the noise seemed. Even her breathing seemed as loud as a foghorn in the silent apartment.

Mechanically, she wondered where Seamus was, and, slowly, remembrance of earlier events trickled into her mind. Shame flooded through her body, making her cringe and an unnatural worry seized her heart. She had said such atrocious things to Seamus, things he certainly did not deserve to hear, and what if he would never come back? What if he hated her now? Even worse, what if he told her parents?!

If there was one thing Ginny feared the most, it was disappointing her parents. Her mother would sigh loudly and unhappily, wringing her hands; perhaps even weep like a disconsolate widow until Ginny wished she could just hit her to make her stop. Her father would clam up and stare at her disconsolately, the corners of his mouth turned down; Ginny couldn't bear to see that stare directed at her.

She shuddered to think what she would have to endure if her parents found out about her marriage problems. She completely dreaded to think what would happen if they found out about her involvement with Draco Malfoy.

Her mother would definitely weep, at least for a week. Her father would probably barricade himself in the garage with all his Muggle contraptions and devices while his wife temporarily played a hosepipe.

Of course, if they ever met Draco in person, there would be hell to pay; Ministry of Magic officials would definitely be called in, as Ginny's father would most likely kill Draco or be killed by him in a wizard's duel; and, either way, Ginny's hysterical mother would have to be carted off to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, due to sustenance of severe shock and depression.

Ginny stood from the sofa and began to pace the tiny living-room, twisting her fingers in front of her. The repercussions of her parents finding out about the current state of her life would be dire. She'd be forced to stay with Seamus for the rest of her life - her mother would balk at the idea of a divorce. She'd have to bear his children - even with Ron and Hermione's fourth child on the way, Molly Weasley still hounded all seven of her children to get a move on themselves.

And she'd never see Draco again ...

Ginny suddenly stopped pacing as the thought skidded into her mind. Yes, if her parents somehow found out about her involvement with Draco Malfoy, she would most likely never see him again. Unless, of course, there was a hell, because that would be the only place where she'd see Draco after life - she didn't think the way she treated Seamus would give her an automatic pass into heaven, and Draco himself was certainly no angel.

"I don't care," Ginny said aloud. "I don't care if I never see him again. He used me, he lied to me, he doesn't give a shit about me," she gabbled under her breath, "so why should I care about whether or not I see him again?"

Because you love him, whispered a treacherous voice in her head. You love him so much -

"I don't love him!" Ginny vehemently interrupted the voice. "I hate him! He's done nothing but ruin my life, prancing in here like he owns me, dragging up what's long been buried - "

She stopped abruptly when her eyes fell on a photograph of her wedding. They stood side-by-side, she and Seamus; she dressed in her mother's yellowing empire-waist wedding gown that didn't suit her at all, he in sombre black dress robes that were much too big for him.

It was a moving photograph, of course, as was common with wizards. Seamus was waving jovially and beaming, Ginny's elbow held in his other hand. Ginny's lip curled in self-disgust as she saw Seamus give her photographed self a toothy grin that stretched from ear to ear.

She never saw him so happy during the three months that followed their wedding day, and it was all her own fault. She had taken away his happiness - deliberately.

It had been the tackiest, most wretched wedding in the history of wizardkind, Ginny thought.

Her mother had dug out a faded apricot gown from another century for the occasion; her father patched up his fraying navy dress robes as best as he could. Both outfits still looked distinctly woebegone despite the proud, glowing faces of their wearers.

Ron Weasley's wife, Hermione, looked quite ridiculous in a yellow tent-like dress that did nothing to disguise her obscenely large belly (she had been pregnant with twins back then). Ron himself ruined his presentable appearance by running his hands through his hair too much from anxiety over his wife, thus making it seem as though he'd only just woken up from a very troubled slumber.

The twins, Fred and George, turned up in identical dress robes of green silk that clearly stood out from everyone else's and were undoubtedly bought with the profit made from their joke-shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where business was booming every month. They'd bewitched Percy Weasley's robes to alternately flash neon pink and orange the whole day; no one could find a way to stop the spell.

Charlie Weasley had been incapacitated for most of the day, due to sustenance of severe burns from his latest encounter with a particularly cantankerous dragon in Romania, and Bill opted for the I-just-resigned-from-the-Weird-Sisters look, with masterfully ripped and torn black robes.

Ginny remembered how much she didn't want to be photographed on that day; she didn't want any reminders of that awful day; of how she struggled to keep down the screams that threatened to hurl themselves out of her mouth, of how she fought the desperate impulse to just turn tail and run.

Squinting at her photographed self, Ginny noticed that her eyes were wide and glassy, darting from side to side as though searching for a gap through which she could make her getaway. Her mouth barely turned up at the corners to resemble a tremulous smile; the hand that didn't belong to the arm which Seamus held was twisting itself into her mother's wedding gown, fiddling agitatedly with the mouldy, old lace.

Ginny picked up the frame that held the photograph and scowled at it, furiously batting her eyelids against the stinging at the back of her eyes that threatened to overwhelm her.

It had been a mistake of gargantuan proportions to marry Seamus Finnigan. She didn't love him, not like she should have for that kind of a relationship. She couldn't love him ... not when she was in love with somebody else.

Ginny's hand tightened on the frame as a wave of humiliation washed over her. She was in love, moreover, with somebody who didn't want her. Sure, he desired her, but to Draco Malfoy every woman who filled him with lust was just another potential conquest. Draco Malfoy could not love, especially not someone like Ginny.

Draco Malfoy needed some tall, leggy blonde with an impeccable fashion sense and an inheritance to rival his own. She'd have razor-sharp cheekbones (Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her own), and seductive, hooded eyes (Ginny could never understand how to gaze up through her eyelashes at someone and still be able to see them properly), and would be the first woman every man noticed when she walked into a room (Ginny blended in with the surrounding decor all too well).

Oh yes, she'd be quite perfect. She'd even have a heart made of stone and a ravenous appetite for sex, both to match Draco's, which would make her the perfect partner for someone like him. No meddling around with emotions. It would be a relationship based on convenience.

But wasn't that the reason why Draco had married thrice in the past decade? Necessity, he'd said. And wasn't that quite the same as convenience? He and his chosen spouse would get married because they needed to preserve what each of them had ... clean bloodline, attractive genetics, outstanding wealth ... by marrying someone like themselves they'd get what they wanted ...

But what was it that Draco had wanted when he married those three women? What did those women want from him? If Draco had followed the plan Ginny reasoned he ought to have followed, by rights he should still have been married to his first wife.

An abrupt movement in the photograph in her hand made Ginny look down at it again. Her photographed self was now struggling to get out of Seamus's grip; he was frowning at her in confusion and trying to pull her back into position.

Ginny's breath caught in her chest as a sinister idea entered her mind. Three was a rather big number of marriages to have in ten years. Perhaps Draco had not got divorced ... Harry's wife had been killed, after all ... he had married her for convenience too ... what if Draco's wives had been killed as well?

Ginny squared her shoulders and lifted her head. She had to find out what happened. She'd wrangle the truth out of Draco somehow.

Just as these determined thoughts were running through Ginny's head, her front door banged open, sparks flying from the lock, and the object of her thoughts barged in.


"Hello," said Draco casually, stowing his wand into a pocket inside his black corduroy jacket and kicking the door closed. "Had a spot of trouble getting the door open. Took me five whole minutes to override the Impenetrable Charm. Would've taken twenty if I hadn't had previous practice at it."

Ginny suddenly woke from the stupor she'd sunk into and advanced on him, eyes blazing. "How dare you enter my apartment without my permission! The least you could do was knock! You'd better hope the neighbours don't notice, otherwise you're going to have to come up with a bloody good excuse as to why there's been a stranger popping in and out of my apartment recently!"

"Well, I would've Apparated here," said Draco, "but I didn't know if you have Security Wards put up to guard against thieves and such. I mean," he looked around the living-room with a superciliously raised eyebrow, "this place doesn't look like it would come with something as high-tech as Security Wards, and I doubt that you could afford to install them."

"Ooh! If you've just come here to insult me," Ginny bristled, "you might as well turn around and leave right now, because I'll not tolerate it!"

But Draco wasn't listening. He was strolling around the living-room, hands stuck in his trouser pockets, surveying all he saw with a haughty air and occasionally picking up an item that particularly caught his disgust to shake his head at it in mock pity. He ran a hand over the dining table, his pale fingers sliding across the grooves and ridges caused by prolonged use, giving it the kind of patronising look that one would give a child of five who'd tried to explain why the sky did not fall down.

It was the last straw for Ginny. "That's it, I've had it!" she roared, striding up to him, her face mere inches from his. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU THINK YOU ARE - " (she poked a finger hard at his chest) " - TO COME BARGING INTO MY HOME - " (another poke) " - TO GO AROUND TOUCHING MY THINGS - " (Draco's chest was starting to ache) " - AND MAKE ME FEEL LIKE SOME SORT OF WORTHLESS BEGGAR!"

A particularly sharp jab that followed the end of Ginny's sentence almost overbalanced Draco and he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny wasn't about to let him cut her off when she was in full-steam-ahead mode. She'd be damned if she let Draco give himself the luxury of demeaning her.

"You have no right to criticise me or any item of my property! You relinquished that right ten years ago, if you've forgotten! You are nothing but a lousy, heartless, uncaring scumbag!" She paused to glower at him, chest heaving with rage.

"And we're back to the name-calling," sighed Draco. "Might as well make myself comfortable, we've got a long way to go." He pulled out the chair he was holding and planted himself onto it, crossing his arms and gazing at Ginny expectantly. "Carry on, then," he said calmly. "You haven't yet mentioned that I've the morals of a starving wolf and the brains of a Flobberworm."

"But - what - that - " Ginny spluttered indignantly. She took in a deep breath. "That's not the point!"

"Oh?" Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "And what is the point, my dear puffed up poppet, to use my own weapons against me? To make me feel as lousy as I made you feel? You must realise, however, that I am more adept with my own weapons than you are. While you may get some satisfaction from this - er - tirade, you are merely handing me more ammunition on a silver platter - that's something I don't think you really want to do, unless you're wanting me to let you stew in your own anger for another ten years?"

Ginny glared at him mutely, still panting from her furious diatribe, hating him and the way that he could always triumph over her; hating him for knowing her weaknesses, knowing how to shut her up just so; knowing that she would never let him disappear again, and knowing that she knew he inevitably would, no matter what she did. Oh, how she hated him!

But as she stared at his pale, pointed, utterly complacent face a feeling akin to self-loathing bubbled up inside her and she hated herself even more than she hated him. While she was resisting him now, she didn't think her resolve could outlast her desire. But she couldn't let him know how weak she was for him, how desperate, how she would do anything for him, if only he would ask. He would scorn her, laugh at her, perhaps, when all was said and done, even pity her, and she'd rather die than have his pity!

The point was that he would never love her.

Ginny wished there was a mallet nearby so she could smash that teasing, tormenting, horribly tantalising smirk off his face. Instead, she stood to her full height, chin held high, eyes spitting sparks, and said through gritted teeth, "I wish you had never come back. I wish you'd died, been killed by a Death Eater ... I wish that - that - that anything could have happened to you, so I wouldn't have had to endure your foul, unwanted presence here."

Draco stood up abruptly, his own eyes cold, hard and glittering strangely. "Anything did happen to me," he ground out. "I saw my mother being tortured, I saw my wives being murdered, I saw mothers kill their own children because Death Eaters put them under the Imperius Curse." His lip curled in self-derision. "I wish I had died, but apparently I'm too useful. I'd do the job myself, but I'm too cowardly. Would you like to assist?"

He was now looming over Ginny, who cowered under his dark gaze, all fury forgotten. "N-no," she whispered. "I - I didn't mean ... Draco, I - I'm - "

"Sorry?" yelled Draco into Ginny's frightened face. "I don't need your fucking apologies and I don't want your fucking pity! I want - " He caught himself suddenly and bit his lip, scowling down at Ginny.

"You want what?" she breathed, eyes suddenly wide with unbidden hope.

"Never mind," growled Draco, turning away from her and striding to her front door.

"Draco!"

He turned, frowning expectantly.

"I know what you want," said Ginny, hating the blush that suffused her face.

Draco's eyebrows unknitted, his eyes became hooded and the hint of a smirk lingered around his mouth. With three long strides he was standing over Ginny again. "Oh? And what makes you so wise?" he purred.

Ginny thought she heard her knees rattling as they banged into each other, her legs suddenly too brittle to hold up the rest of her body. The feel of Draco's warm breath on her skin and the sound of his lilting voice in her ear sent spirals of fire through her veins.

"I - I think - " Ginny suddenly found that she couldn't carry on. Her voice seemed to have absconded with her brain to some uncharted, godforsaken island in the Caribbean.

With Draco staring down at her in precisely that way, with his body mere millimetres away from her own, with his eyes turning into sparkling mercury, Ginny desperately wished something, anything would happen that would pitch him forwards into her, anything that would bring her aching body in contact with the man she'd dreamed of for a decade of loneliness.

And then, suddenly, it happened. Draco leaned towards her, his lean chest pushing against Ginny's heaving bosom. "What do you think, Ginevra?" he breathed.

Ginny felt her legs give way. If Draco had not chosen to clamp his hands around her forearms at that exact moment, she would have fallen to the floor like a lump of jelly. But the pain of his wiry finges digging into her soft flesh could not stifle the audible moan that escaped her as he pulled her back up.

"I know what you think, Ginny," whispered Draco against her forehead, "and I know what you want ..." He trailed his open mouth along her hairline, earning whimpers from the desperate female in his grip. "... I want nothing less ..."

Less than what? Ginny thought dully. Nothing less than sex? Well, her groin seemed to be quite willing to comply; Ginny fought the urge to squirm as she realised what the wetness in her knickers meant.

But she didn't have any more time to think about anything as Draco molded his wonderful, magical mouth to hers, and Ginny wished they could be stuck like that forever as the heat, the power, the passion of the moment overtook her, and she kissed Draco back.

The last thought that travelled through her mind was that the body she was sliding her trembling hands along now was no longer cold but burning with a flame to rival her own. Then there was a wonderful, dizzying darkness that consumed her in its depths, and Ginny knew no more.