Shades of Grey

Shades of Grey

Chapter Seventeen: Choices

*A tacked-on piece of parchment.

December 16, 1998.

Revenge is a dish best served cold ... and muddy. I finally got back at Ginevra for breaking my wand by pushing her face-first into the mud. It only took seven months for me to execute my well-laid plan, and it felt good. Unfortunately, she exacted her revenge by reading selected passages from that horrid Muggle book Pride and Prejudice. I swear to Merlin that this redhead is evil. I suppose it's a good thing that evil goes well with whatever I wear.

I do realise that, at some point, I will have to give this diary back to her. I know she gave it to me as a gift and all, but I feel that this rightfully belongs to her, not I.

She--you will read this, Ginevra, and all I want you to know is that--well, never mind. It doesn't really matter right now. Just know that mud looks good on you, as do bubbles, water, and soap. I hope some day we can have these sort of interactions outside these walls (minus my disadvantage of being wandless--still really have not forgiven you for that, by-the-way), and that you can see me as more than a prisoner ... for I see you as much more than a guard.

"Draco?"

"Hmm, yes?" the blond asked, shaken from his reverie by his girlfriend.

"I asked you if you like the green dress or the white?" Astoria asked, modelling the short, dark-green cocktail dress hanging on the wire in front of her and then switching it out for the longer, white formal gown.

"Green," Draco answered absently and looked back down at his journal.

He had gone up to his room earlier to retrieve the pair of emerald earrings that he had bought Astoria for her birthday and opened the drawer to his desk to locate the box only to find the old, leather-bound journal of Ginevra's. He had traced his fingers along the soft cover and frowned. He had almost forgot that he still had it. Almost. Then one of the house elves reminded him of his scheduled meeting with Astoria, and he Apparated on the spot with the diary (and not the gift) in hand.

"Are you okay?" Astoria asked Draco, her hazel-green eyes filled with concern.

"Yes, I am," he replied hastily and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

She was unconvinced. Astoria was anything but stupid, thank Merlin. She was a shrewd and observant woman who could tell when something was wrong. When Draco had first arrived at Greengrass Manor, he appeared distracted and rattled, and his girlfriend had taken notice. Astoria invited him up to her room and began to try on dresses in front of him, but he paid more attention to the journal in his hand then he did to her, reading it while he thought she wasn't looking. Although Draco was a gentleman and normally would have never ignored Astoria, he couldn't help but absorb himself in the recent past. The green-eyed blonde was too polite to snatch it from his hands and throw it in the fire beside them, but he knew that she wanted to.

He simply had to get all thoughts of the ex-Gryffindor out of his head. However, the version of Ginevra in Draco's mind refused to heed his request, much like how the corporeal version would choose to cooperate - in other words, not at all. It had been almost three months since he last saw her. He was positive that she knew what his feelings towards her were for he had left the letter in the journal on his bed for her to read. She had plenty of time to glance over his entries and realise that he wanted to see her after his release. She could have come to him. Instead, he received the diary a few days before Christmas with no other letters or entries inside.

Why did she dismiss him, so that she could resume her 'normal' life? He wasn't afforded such a luxury. He had tried. Yes, he had seriously tried to do the same, to move on, but he couldn't. He was always distracted, always far away in thought, and his mind always wandered back to her.

"Draco?" Astoria called his name again, this time sounding angry.

"Hmm?" He looked up somewhat confused.

"Honestly, Draco," Astoria said, shaking her head in annoyance. "I don't know how you function from day-to-day." She placed a hand on her hip and looked him up and down. "At least you're pretty."

Draco let out a groan and rolled his eyes. "Not with this again, Ginevra."

"'Ginevra'?" the blonde asked with both eyebrows raised.

"I--Astoria," Draco corrected himself with a cough, looking momentarily panicked. "I'm sorry, my mind momentarily wandered."

The pretty blonde narrowed her eyes and then let out a protracted sigh as she straightened her back. "Draco, I think you should take a walk to clear your head."

Draco nodded and stood up, clutching the journal in his hand. "Yes, you are right. I'm going to Apparate home. I shall pick you up for dinner at seven."

With that, Draco returned back to the grounds of the manor. He opened the gate leading to the house and strolled up the path towards the door with his hands in his pocket, carrying that damnable diary between the crook of his forearm and waist. As he opened the large door to entered the foyer, his mother greeted him with a raised eyebrow, her hands resting delicately at her sides.

"I thought you were at the Greengrasses' with Astoria," Narcissa stated more so than asked.

Draco nodded his head. "I was," he admitted. "She told me to take a walk and clear my head."

Narcissa suppressed a wry grin. "Yes, so how was your walk from the foyer to the parlour?" she asked facetiously, tongue-in-cheek.

"Brisk and refreshing," he replied as if on cue.

Narcissa couldn't stop the grin from forming on her thin lips, and she strode over to her son, bringing a finger up to brush his silver-blond hair out of his eyes.

"You're letting your hair grow long again," she commented, seeing how her son was beginning to look more and more like his father every day.

"Oh, am I?" Draco asked, unconsciously bringing a hand to his hair that now reached his shoulders. "I hadn't noticed." He frowned, knowing that his mother preferred his hair short. "Sorry, Mother. I shall make an appointment with the barber tomorrow."

Narcissa saw the distraction in her son's eyes and the book in his hands, and she lowered her eyes. She turned around and motioned with a finger for him to follow.

"Draco, come walk with me in the gardens," she ordered lightly, taking the lead.

Draco obediently followed, and they both strode outside through the glass doors that led past the atrium out onto the famous Malfoy gardens.

It was the beginning of March, and for some odd reason there was still snow on the ground, but not at the Malfoy Manor. The gardens were always enchanted for early summer warmth. To say it was a garden, however, was to say that Buckingham Palace was a small cottage or a tool shed. It was, in fact, larger than three combined golf courses, a literal botanical garden. Several oak trees lined the expanse of the West wing as well as a small orange grove, a few cherry trees, and an apple orchard. Near the house were several colourful vines, including Morning Star jasmine, pink and blue wisteria, honeysuckle, and creeping fig. Flawlessly exquisite rose bushes, mainly white and yellow, led out towards a large, extravagant gazebo that was decorated with white baby's breath and surrounded by Gerber daisies, impatiens, Cymbidium orchids, and Peruvian lilies of assorted colours. A small herb garden lay adjacent to the East wing, and a cobblestone pathway led to a massive weeping willow that stood beside a reflection pond filled with dozens of gold koi. Next to it was a large brass bench surrounded by white and pink narcissus.

"Things are not going well with Astoria?" Narcissa asked after their brief walk, taking a seat.

Draco sat down beside his mother. "No, they are fine," he answered almost mechanically, staring at an albino peacock that strutted by the pond, gazing down at the swimming koi. "She is a charming girl, very friendly and intelligent."

"Those are fine, virtuous qualities," Narcissa stated as though in agreement, her voice barely catching Draco's attention.

"Yes," he answered absently, rubbing his thumb along the spine of the leather journal.

Narcissa watched her son play with the old book in his hand, and she frowned. "You are not satisfied?" she asked suddenly, and this time Draco heard her question and lowered his head.

"Mother, does it matter what I feel or want?" he asked with a scowl on his face.

"Of course it does, Draco," she answered, ignoring the acerbic quality to her son's voice. "Do you think that I would force you to be with someone you didn't care about?"

Draco looked up and glanced over at his mother. Her expression was serious yet soft. He had never thought that his parents would force him to be with someone he didn't want to be, but he also knew that he would be restricted by choice of whom he could marry.

"Perhaps not," he answered slowly. "But Father--"

Narcissa cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Your father only cares that you marry a pureblood, one with a good name."

Draco rolled his eyes and sat back. "Is that all?" he queried facetiously. "I'm glad to see that there are so many options left open for me."

"Since when have you expressed a desire to be with Muggle-borns, half-bloods, or half-breeds, Draco?" Narcissa asked as she leaned forward and cocked a pale blonde eyebrow in the air.

"I haven't," he answered truthfully.

Narcissa's mouth twisted into a frown. "Then why exactly are you trying to make me and your father out to be tyrants?" she asked, not remotely amused with her son's vitriolic tone.

"I'm not," he muttered, turning his head away from her, scowling petulantly.

"No?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "You look quite vexed, Draco." She placed her hands on her lap and took in a deep breath, deciding to approach her son from a different angle. "Is there something on your mind?"

Draco thought on it for a moment and then slowly spun around to face her. "Is my marriage to Astoria important?" he asked, sounding both angry and desperate. "Is it what Father wants?"

Narcissa frowned. "Who said you are to be married to the girl?" she asked, genuinely perplexed by her son's sudden change in demeanour.

She could not account for his change in attitude, although she had her guesses. She had never seen Draco this unnerved before, and it began to unsettle her somewhat.

"But I thought--"

"No, you presumed, Draco," she stated authoritatively, cutting him off. "Of course your father and I would see her as a lovely addition to the Malfoy family, but it is not up to us to decide who you are to marry."

"It isn't?" he asked, looking thoroughly shocked.

"No," Narcissa replied softly, shaking her head. "I would never force your hand, Draco. If you wanted to marry the poorest witch in England, we could never protest it." She bit the inside of her cheek and tilted her head once more. "Of course, your father would try and probably even threaten to disown you and cut off your inheritance, but you know that I would never let that happen." She smirked. "And I also have no fear of you making such a foolhardy choice since you are such a wise, young man."

Draco's face fell at her last words, and Narcissa pursed her lips into a frown. Something was most definitely on her son's mind, and the regal-looking blonde had a feeling that she knew what it was.

"Of course, times have changed," she added, hesitantly, eyebrows raised to gauge Draco's reaction. He, predictably, turned to look at her. "What seemed so ironclad a few years ago has become tenuous and malleable. Priorities have become askew." She reached a hand out and rested it on his shoulder. "Now, I think even your father would be satisfied with you just marrying a pureblood, regardless of her name." Her ice-blue eyes had melted, and she gave him a knowing look, which caused his brow to furrow in confusion. "There are so few of us around now - those who are not imprisoned or dead. Plus, a pureblood of a less reputable name in my day has a name as pure as gold now." The elegant blonde almost rolled her eyes at this turn of events.

Draco swallowed hard, studying his mother's face for a moment with his steel-grey eyes. "Mother, what are you getting at?"

"Pardon?" she asked, feigning innocence.

She did a terrible job at it.

"Mother, you have many talents, but subtlety isn't one of them," Draco stated dryly, and Narcissa's innocent façade morphed into an ill-masked look of mischievousness.

"I'd like to think that I am far from ostentatious," she commented, turning her nose up at Draco.

"Do not get me wrong, Mother," he clarified, shaking his head, "but you have subtlety confused with cunning - and the latter you have in spades."

Narcissa grinned and brought her hand up to brush his long silver-blond hair out of his eyes. "I suppose I can forgive your cheek this one time."

Draco frowned and took his mother's hand in his. "Do not skirt the issue, Mother. Tell me what you are angling at."

Narcissa let out a quiet sigh. Perhaps she was getting soft in her 'old' age. She could no longer pretend to know and do what was best for her son. She had to let him make his own mistakes. She had to let him be a man.

"Draco, you are my son," she began, "and do not, for one moment, think that your change in mood and demeanour has passed my notice." She narrowed her crystal-blue eyes on him and leaned back on the bench. "You have been moping about the house for months now. Then you finally venture outside, much to my prodding, and begin dating a delightful, albeit somewhat too exuberant, young girl. She obviously adores you, but you cannot return her affection."

"How do you--?"

Narcissa raised a hand for him to cease talking. "How many times do I have to state the obvious to you, Draco, before it finally sinks in?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and frowned.

"You are infatuated with the Weasley girl," Narcissa stated plainly, and Draco's mouth dropped open.

"I never--you--how?" the grey-eyed blond was at a loss for words.

Narcissa pursed her lips tightly and glared at her son. "We should have sent you to a private school. Hogwarts obviously never taught you how to speak properly." Her frown, however, subtly morphed into a wry grin.

Draco rolled his eyes. His mother had a sense of humour. How droll.

"Milly," Narcissa called stiffly, fetching for her personal house elf.

Milly appeared before the tall blonde with a loud pop. "Yes, Mistress?" the little elf asked obediently.

"Bring me the letter addressed to Draco," she demanded, and Milly disappeared and then reappeared instantly with a small roll of parchment in her hand, offering it to her mistress.

Narcissa took the paper, dismissed Milly, and then turned to face her son, who was now staring at her with a creased brow and cold, narrowed eyes.

"Oh, do not look at me in that way, Draco," she said, dismissing him with a wave of her delicate hand. "It arrived a few weeks ago, but I had to send it to a private curse breaker to make sure that it was safe."

"A few weeks ago?" Draco asked through gritted teeth, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Quite honestly, I did not want to give it to you," she stated with a somewhat haughty indifference. "I knew that girl was the reason for your melancholy. I had known it since I first laid eyes on her."

"Girl?" Draco asked, and then his eyes suddenly lit up in realisation. "This letter is from Ginevra?" His eyes darkened. "You saw her before? She tried to contact me earlier than a few weeks ago?"

"Just before Christmas," Narcissa answered, seeing the look of anger and desperation reflect in her son's grey eyes. "She approached me in a café in Diagon Alley the night that you went to get your hair cut. She wanted to know how you were."

Draco shook his head in a maddening manner. "Mother, why didn't you tell me?" he cried indignantly.

"I could tell by how she asked about you that she cared a great deal for you, and from how I had seen you mope about the manor since your return, I had come to realise that you cared for her as well." She sat with her back rigid against the bench.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, standing to his feet to look down at her, his chest rising and falling in anger.

"I thought that it was a passing fling, Draco. It often happens in one's youth. You both had developed an impossible and fleeting romance." She sighed and shook her blonde tresses. "The two of you had essentially lived together for over half a year, and I thought that you just needed some time to move on and realise that what you thought was love was merely infatuation."

"You thought wrong, Mother," he stated evenly, his voice as cold as his eyes.

"I know I did," she agreed, looking out onto the expansive gardens. "I presumed that setting you up with a somewhat sensible girl would distract you, and it obviously hasn't."

Draco brought his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. "If I had known that she was trying to contact me all along--"

"Then you would have answered her," Narcissa finished for him with a small smile on her face. "I admit that I did not know that your feelings for her ran so deep, Draco. I should have never tried to make your decisions for you."

She turned to look up at him with her clear blue eyes, and Draco knew that this was the closest thing to an apology he would ever receive from her. She then handed him the letter, stood up, and began to walk around the grounds, giving him his privacy. Draco sat back down on the bench and slowly began to unroll the parchment to read.

Dear Draco,

I'm writing to you because I am at my wit's end. Why have you not tried to contact me? Are you too good for that? Am I not worth the effort? I asked your mother how you were doing when I met her in the café just before Christmas. Were you too busy being a heartless, self-absorbed git to answer me? Too busy moving on, dating insipid tarts, and living the high life? Did you just want me to forget about you, forget about us? Well, I guess there never was an 'us', was there? I was foolish to believe that you cared, that our time together actually meant something to you.

Draco closed his eyes and cursed to himself. She had written him to tell him to piss off. He had missed his opportunity with her. Resignedly, he opened his eyes and moved on to the next paragraph.

You're an idiot, you know that? When you left with Kingsley that day, I felt as though my world had collapsed. All I had known for those past seventh months was you, and you didn't even bother to say 'goodbye'. You even left the journal I gave you. I thought you had forgot it, so I sent it to you. You didn't even reply to thank me. I thought you wanted to at least stay friends, not that we were friends, we were--I don't know what we were, but you could have been decent enough to want to keep in contact!

Draco let out a shaky sigh. She hadn't read his entries. She didn't know how he felt about her. Draco wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, but he read on. He owed her that much.

Draco, I can forgive all of the above because you know me better than anyone else in this world. You saw my heart and soul exposed. You read my journal. You know what happened to me at Hogwarts, what I did to myself, what others did to me. But I can't forgive this silence, acting like we never had a past, that I don't know you because I do! Yes, you may hate the fact that a Weasley has seen the sensitive and vulnerable side to Draco Malfoy, but it's true.

I know the real Draco. The Draco who likes a glass of warm milk before he goes to bed at night, who takes extraordinarily long bubble baths (sans bubbles, of course), who reads romance novels like Wuthering Heights, and convinces himself that they are not romance novels so that he can protect his fragile, manly ego. The same Draco Malfoy who pretends to be rubbish at football in order to let me win (and who trips me and pushes me into mud when I do win), who dances with a type of grace that I dearly wish I could possess, who listens to me and makes me feel like the most important person in the world...

Draco, if you don't lov--if you don't like me then just tell me so. Put me out of my misery. I can't bear this waiting any longer nor carry this weight I balance on my chest nor harbour these doubts I feel in my soul. Tell me, right now, how you truly feel. I couldn't be more open about myself than I am right now, than what you have read in my journal. I wish I had that diary here now so that I could have at least read your thoughts, even if they did only say 'Die, She-Weasel, die.' ;)

Draco let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

Please answer me, even if it's to tell me to never write to you again. I need to know if you feel the same way that I do. I also need to know if you don't.

Write to me.

Love,

Ginevra

"She never read any of my entries!" he exclaimed in shock, shaking his head in disbelief. "She didn't know that I wanted to talk with her after--Merlin, how could I have been so stupid?" He brought his fist up to his forehead in anger and frustration.

He had let the woman he loved slip through his finger because of his own foolish pride. She had felt the same way, and now he may have ruined it all, dashed any hopes of being with her.

"The word is 'obstinate', Draco," Narcissa corrected him from behind his shoulder, and he turned around in shock. "You get that from your father."

Draco lowered his hand to his side. He knew what he had to do, but he was still scared. He was a Malfoy, and he was terrified of little Weasley girl.

"Mother, I know you cannot approve of her," he began, but Narcissa raised a hand to silence him in her customary manner.

"Draco, life is too short," she stated softly but firmly, holding her head high. "You must do what you have to do, but always remember to carry yourself like a Malfoy and take care of your business, love or otherwise, the proper way."

~*~

Ginevra sat with Luna at a small pub in Diagon Alley. The two had got together for lunch at least once a week since she had gone to talk with the blonde less than a month ago. As they sat inside the restaurant, Ginevra could not believe how cold it was for March. It had begun snowing the past few days, which was rather abnormal since it never usually snowed in London, least of all this early into Spring. Luna had said that the nargles were the reason for the long winter. She had gone on in great detail as to why, but Ginevra had tuned her out, daydreaming about sharp grey-eyes contrasting against pure-white snow.

After they finished lunch, Luna had walked back with Ginevra to the shop, skipping in the snow. The ex-Ravenclaw had taken the year off to decide what she wanted to do for a career. She worked part-time for her father at the Quibbler, which had gained some notoriety and prestige during the war as it was the only paper that actually wrote the truth (well, some truths ), especially against Voldemort. Ginevra figured that the intuitive and talented blonde would most likely take over the paper or become a writer. George had, jokingly, told Luna that she should write the story of Harry Potter. Luna had taken the suggestion seriously but had decided to just write about the battle at Hogwarts. Ginevra had read the first few chapters and had to admit that they were quite good.

They finally reached the joke shop, and Ginevra leaned over and gave her best mate a hug, waving goodbye to the blonde who Apparated back to her home. Ginevra then walked into the shop and waved at George, who smiled at her somewhat nervously.

"What?" she asked, looking side-long at her older brother.

"Nothing," he replied innocently - too innocently.

"Uh huh," she said, eyeing him cautiously as she made her way up the stairs towards her room.

Ginevra opened her door and dropped her bag as her tiny room had been blanketed in red roses. There were petals on the floor, on her bed, and dozens of vases were filled to the brim with the sweet-smelling flowers. Her face lit up, and her mouth formed into a huge smile. She instinctively knew who had done this. She felt a hand on her shoulder from behind, and she turned around, grinning.

"Dra--"

"Hullo, Gin," Harry said with a shy and sheepish smile on his face.

Ginevra momentarily frowned. "Harry?"

"I know that you said you never wanted to see me again, but ..." He paused, lowering his head, and then lifted his green eyes to look into her honey-coloured ones. "I have been a fool, Ginny," he admitted, looking both ashamed and angry with himself. "I left you out at Godric's Hollow all alone. I never came to visit you; I rarely owled or Flooed you; I never celebrated your birthday ..." He sighed, knowing that the list of wrongs was far too long for him to say in one mouth-full. "I was a horrible boyfriend, Gin, not even an adequate friend."

Ginevra lowered her eyes, and a sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips. This is what she had been waiting for while she was at Godric's Hollow. She had wanted Harry to admit that he was wrong, and that he was a terrible boyfriend. Now, however, it didn't seem all that important to her.

"I know that I should not expect to be forgiven or even be given another chance," he admitted softly, looking crestfallen. "I have a lot to make up for, a lot of wrongs to right." He sighed. "It will take a long time or never at all to mend these wounds I have given you, given to us both, but I want to try."

Ginevra finally looked up him and slowly waved her hand. "Harry, I forgive you for what happened," she said slowly, and his eyes lit up, "but I can't pretend that everything could be how it was a year ago or two years ago for that matter."

"I know," Harry agreed, nodding his head, happy that she had at least forgiven him. "I would just like the opportunity to start over, to prove to you that I can be a better boyfriend." He looked down at her with sad, pleading eyes, and she shook her head and swallowed hard.

It had been three weeks since she sent the letter to Draco, and he had not yet replied to her or tried to contact her in any way. She had to give up on the possibility of something with him. Harry was here, right now, trying to have a relationship with her. Ginevra knew that she should not take it, that she should stay single, but she was hurt and alone, and sometimes you do stupid things when you think that no one loves you.

"Okay, Harry," she said quietly and nodded her head. "We'll can try again."

~*~

Arthur Weasley rummaged through his desk, searching for the paper work he was supposed to have filed ten minutes ago. He was sure that he had put it in the bottom drawer, but the file was nowhere to be found. He was about to give up and walk over to the next office to enquire if Johnson had seen the report when he heard a low and commanding voice address him from the doorway of his office.

"Mister Weasley?"

Arthur nodded his head and looked up, meeting steel-grey eyes accentuated by a just barely visible white scar that ran along the young man's right cheek towards his jaw. The boy looked and sounded unmistakably familiar.

"Sir, my name is Draco Malfoy, and I'd like to request a moment of your time."

~*~

Author notes: Draco found out that Ginny really did try to contact him. =( Don't fault Narcissa too much. Her heart was in the right place, and she realised that she had guessed wrong about how her son really felt about Ginny. And now Ginny has got back together with Harry. Does Draco stand a chance after 'ignoring' her for the past three months? And why was Draco visiting Arthur Weasley at the Ministry of Magic? One more chapter to go, and you'll find out. ^_^

Story notes: Originally, I had written a part about Narcissa telling Draco what was in her censored letter to him, but I took it out because it really didn't help the story flow at this point. So I shall fill-in-the-blanks and tell you that parts of the letter that were censored told Draco 1) where Narcissa and Lucius were (at the Ministry of Magic as opposed to Azkaban) and 2) that Lucius was going to cut a deal.

The other part I left out was that Narcissa had sent more than one letter to Draco. Unfortunately, he did not receive many of these letters because of incompetent Ministry bureaucracy (not because of Harry). Again, I tell you this here in the author notes instead of mentioning these things in this chapter or the previous two as it would have just looked awkward. Plus, the information wasn't all that important. However, if any of you were to ever wonder, now you know. ^_~