Reciprocality

Reciprocality,

by thecoldhardground

It seems a little pretentious to say that I was trying to protect her from myself. But, Malfoys are not known for their modesty, and it is the truth of it. Something about her kept me from wanting to hurt her the way I hurt Potter and his entourage. I rarely insulted her for her flaming hair and poverty-stricken life like I did her infinite brothers. I guess I knew even then that something was wrong with her, that she was fragile and meant to be handled carefully. I didn't think on it overmuch. I was far more concerned with myself, and because I was afraid, I tried to concern myself more with the everlasting battle between myself and the do-gooding Harry Potter. Sometimes, I'd glare at him in the dining hall and my eyes would catch on her, pushing her food around on her plate and not eating anything right in front of her oblivious older brother and champion. I started noticing around that time. The way she never ever laughed in a real way or smiled contentedly. Instead she'd sometimes wear a small smile inspired by some irony, some idiosyncrasy no one else saw, but she never just giggled or lost herself in ringing laughter the way she once had and I was now hard-pressed to remember. I noticed that she avoided her friends and went out on the quidditch pitch at night to read, a different book every two or so nights, it seemed. Something had happened to Ginny Weasley, something none of her supposed loyal and brave Gryffindorian friends knew of, and I was determined to find out what it was. But when, or maybe while I did, I fell for her. Hard, like some eagle or falcon shot in the sky with cold piercing metal.

What bothered me was that she never bothered to mask the deep depression she sunk into. Many go through complex rituals to hide their ill state from close ones, but she never really bothered. She didn't eat, she didn't laugh, her marks dropped from rivaling the Mudblood's own in that year to hardly-passing. And with all this to guide them, they didn't notice a thing. Her own brother was so busy stuffing his face he didn't notice how very rarely Ginny graced the table with her presence. Her schoolgirl crush was so caught up in his irrelevant melodrama of tragedies he didn't notice her fargone expression. Meanwhile, I did. I counted her missed meals and the dark circles under her eyes.

But in the midst of that, I was also wrapped in myself. The plight of The Youngest Weasley was one of the few external activities I pursued. Mostly I did my school work, ate when necessary, slept when I could and fucked whoever was waiting for me. Maybe I watched her breakdown was because I was drowning in my own. But I liked the way the world was blurred and muffled those days, like I was a child deep under in a Muggle swimming pool. The one time I relished surfacing was when I was on my broom. So cliche, that I would give up my silent, comfortable oblivion for such a rash and exciting one. But oblivion is oblivion, and when you're like me, you get it wherever you can. The point I'm trying to make is that she came to me first. I knew she was there, I knew she was watching and maybe I was waiting for her. But I didn't do anything but wait.

It was intense and beautiful and new. Instead of being lost in myself, I was lost in her. She grew a thousandfold and I knew she was happy again, for real. My own lethargy was waning. In her sorrow, she had been a horrible and exquisite, like a hurricane; In her happiness, she was radiant and mesmerizing. Either way, I knew I was falling for her. I couldn't take my eyes off her. As she changed, Harry began to notice her, along with much of the Hogwarts student body, and I knew I was going to lose her. I decided the best thing for me to do was just back off. She would remember me as half of an affair that returned precious warmth into her body, an affair lost that led her to lifelong happiness with the man of her dreams: Harry-fucking-Potter, of course. I decided the easiest way for it to happen was for me to end it all. Make it clear that she was going to move on with her life, and then take my own. I knew that if she stayed with me, the glint of her eyes would soften and finally dull and she would see life with cynicism and distrust again. Without me, she would always be the glowing spirited being I sometimes found at my side these days, and she would occasionally think of me fondly and remember our passion before returning to her pleasant life of happiness and scarless children with red hair and green eyes.

So now, I am returning to my past lover, the only thing I found delight in before I was consumed by Ginny's ferocious attentions. I have flown as high as I ever have and now I'm plunging plowing falling plummeting dropping to the Earth in a hideously orgasmic tailspin, uncontrolled but foreseen, violent and rushing. I am returning to the ground from which I am sometimes told I sprang, sprinting towards my demise on my mistress of a broom with an incredible pretense of reciprocality. Without me, I know she'll be alright and pure and dazzling and I can allow myself to be this selfish martyr for her to stay alright. If Ginny's alright, no matter what happens, I know everything will be fine.