Ask Her

Malfoy had crossed enemy lines, was standing on Light ground. He could feel it, seeping upwards, and creeping in around him. It ate away at the dark around him, the malice and the hate.

Malfoy knocked hard on the door, breathing hard. The rain was falling softly, a significant change from the downpour it had been only minutes before, and plastering his hair to his face.

The door opened, and he was greeted with the sight of red hair. Not the Weasley he came for, but any one of them would do, for now.

Ron scowled. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

Ron had been, surprisingly, the one he was on the best terms with. It took a while, and they had come to blows, but the redhead had mellowed after time, and the two had formed an uneasy alliance.

But then Malfoy had ruined it.

"She doesn't want to see you." Ron's voice was harsh and unforgiving. Malfoy nodded.

"I guessed as much."

"She said she never wanted to see you again."

Malfoy cocked his head. "Then she's lying."

Ron's face contorted in rage. Malfoy spoke before Ron could.

"Just...I want you to tell her something." Ron looked at him, the anger still apparent, and the hurt, but curiosity winning out.

"What?"

"Well, it's more of a question. Ask her....ask her why I'm here."

Ron frowned. "Why would she know?"

"Just do it." The word 'please' was on the tip of his tongue, but a Malfoy never said please.

Ron slammed the door and went inside. Malfoy knew he would ask her.

Malfoy walked into the dark empty classroom and saw her, sitting on the windowsill, her hair falling away from the smooth line of her neck. She had turned as the door closed, and a faint smile touched her lips.

"Malfoy."

He knew she still liked to call him that, and he answered "Weasley," with a smirk.

It was later, when they were curled together by the window, when she looked away from him.

"Why am I here?"

She seemed to be asking the stars, but he knew she wasn't. Malfoy tightened his arms around her waist and buried his nose in her hair. "Because you love me."

She had stiffened, and then rolled to face him. Her eyes bore into his for a moment, and then she kissed him, hungrily, desperately, and Malfoy felt that tinge of darkness in her soul. Knowing he brought it out was an agonizing, impossibly beautiful feeling.

Ron walked into her room without knocking. She turned.

"He's here."

She nodded. "I know."

"I told him to go away."

"Thank you."

"He didn't." She looked at him.

"Why?"

"He wanted me to tell you something. Well, ask you something."

She was curious, and tilted her head, unknowingly imitating Malfoy. "What?"

"He wanted me to ask you why he was here."

Ron was not prepared for her to pale dramatically and rush out the door. A rant, maybe, a little stewing in her own anger, yes, but not look as if she's heard that her mother was dead.

Malfoy looked up when the door opened again, and she was there. The rain had stopped falling, and the night had gotten clearer, the stars shining brightly. He'd always thought she looked amazing under moonlight.

"You prat," she spat at him, pushing the front of his robes up. She stared at his arm, mesmerized by the mark that crawled across his pale skin, like a Muggle tattoo.

"I had too, you know that."

"Doesn't mean you aren't a prat. What you did...."

Malfoy's face softened a fraction. "I know."

She looked up into his eyes again. Malfoy smirked faintly and said, "Why am I here?"

Ginny smiled.

"Because you love me."