Ginny Weasley slipped into her woolen sweater, eyes wide and frightened and her thick, russet hair splayed messily across her shoulders. Wrapping a shawl around her neck, she halted, listening for any noises in the silent house. Her family was supposedly sleeping, but she could never tell whether they were awake. Ginny would have to watch out for them – if she was found out of her bed, her mother would have Ginny's head. Pulling on a hat, she opened her bedroom door slowly, wincing as it creaked.
From the moment in which she had sat up in bed, gasping and looking around her room wildly, to the present, where she was stealthily tip-toeing down the stairs, the shivers traveling up and down her spine hadn't ceased. They weren't ordinary shudders, but electric-like ones that threatened to persist until Ginny surrendered to their indications. Her throat was dry and her skin clammy; Ginny should have been used to this, yet she wasn't.
Ever since her sixteenth birthday, Ginny had been having premonitions of this sort. It wasn't just the galvanizing sense of urgency that pervaded her mind but the dizzy sensations that followed, leading her to where she was needed. And the terribly bizarre part about her penetrating forebodings was that Draco was always there with her.
Always.
Her presentiments were odd -- she had no control over them. Usually, Ginny's senses would lead her to a certain place and she would get the feeling that she had to complete something. One time, she had stumbled upon a Death Eater hiding out in a decaying cavity of a tree, and with Draco's help, caught him unaware, disarming him. Ginny had been featured in the Daily Prophet for helping ensure another of Voldemort’s followers ended up in Azkaban, where they belonged.
Ginny didn't want attention, didn't want fame. She was puzzling over the ordeals she went through; too afraid to ask for help, thinking if anyone heard her story, she'd be proclaimed a lunatic. Once, she had come close to confiding in Luna, but saved herself before spilling out an otherwise well-kept secret.
Once arriving at the area, Ginny would have a fairly good idea of what she should do. If the answer wasn't that obvious, in in time she had found that clearing her mind and thinking of nothing helped. A picture would form and Ginny eventually followed the hunch. Numerous times, Draco helped her achieve her goal and over a few years, they had formed a civil relationship. Ginny became more self-reflective and serious. Mrs. Weasley could be caught staring at her daughter, eyes squinted in sheer disbelief at the changes Ginny had gone through. The twins would exchange looks when a water balloon exploded over Ginny's head and her facial expression didn't alter.
There was a part in this that Ginny had kept hidden, had not told anyone -- not even Draco, who was her sole confidant in the queer adventures. At times, Ginny could recognize Draco's emotions and talk to him accordingly. She knew what was on his mind or what was troubling him. All of it startled her and she took comfort in the fact that Draco's life had been disturbed by this abnormal process too.
The night was chilly and oppressive as Ginny stepped outside. She let out a breath, watching it curl itself into a white puff of air before the harsh breeze took it away. An eerie thrill shot through her body, heightening her perception. It was only the last day of October, but nevertheless the atmosphere was near freezing. She turned down the road, letting her feet lead her. Gravel crunched underfoot and all was silent, making Ginny feel she was the only person alive. Fog lingered near the ground, hiding Ginny's boots here and there as she moved on, eyes ahead of her.
The Halloween decorations adorning the Burrow shone faintly as Ginny wandered further away. Soon, the leering pumpkins and orange lights had disappeared. She was tempted to call out -- yell, shout, something -- to assure herself she wasn't a solitary being in the center of an interminable terrain. She nearly stumbled upon a half-buried tree root, a mild shriek escaping her lips.
Ginny wrapped the cloak tightly about her, trying not to think of the already noted fact that it was Halloween, and she was prowling through a mysterious back road in the middle of the night. A looming tree's branches jabbed her in the face --it was as if the limb was alive, wanting to grab her, bind her, suffocate her. This time, she cursed herself for getting out of bed and following her intuition.
She crossed the road, pressing a thick clump of underbrush aside, virtually sensing the cobwebs dusting her skin. Ginny stepped out into a large clearing, immediately observing she was at the local graveyard. The moonlight cast a ghostly glow on the tombstones and dark grass, creating elongated shadows that concealed all. Ginny shuddered, thoroughly convinced that whatever would happen tonight would not be something she would enjoy.
Unconsciously, she scrutinized her surroundings, looking for Draco. He had, without fail, accompanied her wherever Ginny's premonitions led her -- sometimes helping her, other times outwardly scorning her. Draco was always the first at the scene and the first to leave. She couldn't fathom what he was doing there; he never explained nor did he ask her questions. It was a mutual decision made long ago, yet she couldn't help but wonder why he was there. Did he follow her? Did he somehow know she was going to arrive at that specific area? Did he have the premonitions as well? The bitter air nipped at her smooth skin as she gradually walked over to his dark shape.
Draco was huddled next to the largest monument, his emerald cape screening his figure. As she approached, Ginny noticed he didn't look well -- his face was paler than ever and purple half-circles lined his charcoal eyes. Not looking up, he acknowledged her presence.
"I was wondering when you'd come."
She wandered closer, sitting down opposite him. "You shouldn't have waited." A pause. "What is it this time?"
"I don't know. I can't make it out."
"Try," she encouraged.
"I am, but you have to help me," he answered her, almost apprehensively.
She nodded, but Draco couldn't see, as he was staring glumly at the ground. Ginny closed her eyes, attempting to clear her mind. She could sense Draco doing the same and they sat together in silence, mentally reaching out to discover whatever they needed to know. It made no difference -- all she saw was gray.
"I suppose there's nothing to do but wait it out," she mused, involuntarily looking around.
“And do what?" he belittled her. She shrugged in response.
The grass was damp and the air moist. The wind had changed; it was less grating. She breathed in deeply, closed her eyes and tried again. This time, in her mind's eye there appeared a shape; a dark gray shape. It trembled for a moment, began to get brighter and brighter, before succumbing to a silver void.
"I saw something this time," she exclaimed, but was cut short by Draco.
"I know, I saw it too. But it doesn't explain anything."
She didn't answer, her brows knitted together in consternation. Anything could be metallic and small. Anything could be in the configuration of a crescent.
Leaning her head back on the crumbling rock, she sighed. Silence filtered through their surroundings, settling down and encasing all with a protective shield of tranquility. The half-moon was bright and subtle at the same time, its light shining into Ginny's eyes. She loved the moon. It was a constant yet inconstant companion, a source of comfort that gave her unremitting pleasure when she stared into its spherical countenance... She closed her eyes, weariness gradually grabbing hold of her in waves and did not hear Draco speak.
He had to shake her to wake her up. "Ginny. I'm getting a hunch now."
She grumbled in reply, rubbing her sleep-deprived eyes and blearily opening them to find Draco a scant few inches away from her nose.
"What?" Ginny asked, sighing loudly.
"You have to work with me, Ginny, or we'll never get this done."
At that moment, a radiant flash of light filled her mind. It was such a strong insinuation -- filling up any available space so her mental eyes immediately made out the outline of the figure that had implanted itself into her head: a silver-white crescent moon trinket, suspended from a string. Her body's reaction to the extraordinary indication overwhelmed her senses, making Ginny sink to the ground and clutch at her ears which had begun ringing faintly. For a while, nothing could be heard except crickets chirping in the depths of the darkness as Ginny's perception returned to normal.
When she finally looked up, Draco was looking at her strangely. "You didn't...see what I saw?" he asked, eyes intense.
"I don't know," Ginny answered bluntly. "Did you?" Her brain was working furiously to decode the image that had formed a moment ago. She gave a startled gasp, swallowing hard as she reached underneath her shirt and pulled out a necklace of black string, on which a metal crescent hung.
They didn't talk for a lengthy amount of time, staring at Ginny's trinket, shocked. Of course, she thought. How could I have been so stupid? She didn’t expect to hear what she did from Draco just then.
"I have one exactly like that."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"I have one exactly like that," he repeated faintly, bringing out a similar ornament. Upon inspecting it closer, Ginny realized it was entirely uniform. She didn't know how to react. Should she laugh it off? Think harder? Declare it a fake? Ginny took the best possible way, asking him a question she would later regret.
"Where did you get that?"
"On my sixteenth birthday," he told her, appearing puzzled. "It arrived in a plain, brown box with no labels, nothing. I spent Christmas alone that year, so I couldn't ask my parents if they knew who gave it to me. I've worn it since."
Ginny fell back, hard, bringing a hand to her mouth and gaping at him. Her voice was barely audible as she stuttered, "Y-you got it on your sixteenth birthday?"
The astonished disturbance in her tone was distinct, a loud intrusion in the otherwise silent ambiance that had enveloped them. He nodded taciturnly, following her gaze as she wrenched the bauble roughly from her neck. "Do the same," she instructed him swiftly, before Draco could protest.
When they were both clutching the ebony string, dangling it from the air, Ginny bent nearer, painstakingly regarding the necklaces. "They're identical, Draco."
He gave her one of his bygone sneers, a slight drawl, even. "A witless flobberworm would have known that, Weasley."
"Draco, you don't understand.” Ginny felt as though someone else was speaking, the words coming out of someone else's lips. “I got mine on my sixteenth birthday. It arrived in a tan package as well. And I have been wearing it since, too. There's a connection." She forced emphasis on her last three words, drawing them out slowly.
They stared into each other's eyes, ignoring the mist that had started to lift and was now partly covering their bodies, making an effort to comprehend what it all meant. The night had gotten even colder, if that was possible, the wind had died down, leaving in its wake an unearthly stillness that rushed in Ginny's ears. A shudder ran down her spine again as she realized that this might be the relation between them.
“Draco, I have to ask you something.” He nodded mutely as Ginny continued. “Why are you always here, with me? We've never talked about this and we should have, a long time ago.” She pushed back the hair that had fallen into her face. “The reason that I get out of bed and go on these eccentric adventures is because I get these forebodings... that tell me where to go and later, how to put the clues together. At first, they're like shivers down my back, but as we get closer to whatever we need to accomplish, the entire picture is enormous.” She paused, noting apathetically that this was the most she had ever said to him, in such short a time. “But you're always there before me. You act like you know exactly what's going on.” She took the necklace from where it was lying on the ground and tied it at her neck. “My question to you is this: do you? Do you know what you're doing here, every single time?”
When she peered up at him, Ginny was astonished at how he looked. Draco's ashen skin was deathly white now, almost semi-opaque in the sense that his eyes stood out from his features. His hair fell clumsily into his face, the platonic color of it now a dark blond, horrifically contrasted with his sharp profile.
“Draco, what's wrong with you?” she asked him softly, concerned.
He shifted uncomfortably, as if he knew exactly what was going on. Draco wouldn't tell her anything, disregarding Ginny's worried prodding. He only averted his eyes, which stared at a point beyond her, like everything made sense to him and explaining it all to another person would be too much trouble.
He answered her other question instead. “I know what I'm doing. You've just described exactly what I go through whenever we meet up.” His voice was smooth, his words measured, his tone mild. Draco sounded foreign, different. “But you don't know why this happens, do you? You haven't gotten the slightest clue.” He considered her then, eyes meeting eyes before dropping his own. “I figured it out a while ago. How could I not? The answer was right there, in my own house.” He leaned back on his hands, some of his familiar characteristics seeping in, before being drowned in the new Draco, the solemn Draco, the serious Draco. “My father has an old store of Dark Arts books. It's a rather well-known fact, actually. When this charm arrived, I thought nothing of it. The trinket was just another random, immaterial gift. It wasn't until I had a few more run-ins with you that I figured there must be some sort of link. I spent hours pouring through the books, trying to find something. I didn't know what I was looking for, just had an intuition that the answer was there.
“I found it in a musty old book at the bottom of the stack. Apparently, there exists an ancient charm... that when used in the correct context can bond two people together magically. Of course, only powerful wizards can conjure such strong magic. But it's been done, countless times yet not so copiously that it would be noticed. The incantation is very old, like I said, so it's been unused for a while.” He cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts before continuing, Ginny hanging onto every word. “I don't know who gave it to us and it is very unlikely we'll ever find out. I don't know why, either. But the spell lasts forever, as long as the object is worn by its victims.”
After the long, profound hush that followed Draco's confession, Ginny managed to murmur, in an unsteady, wobbly voice, “So you knew what it meant, all this time?”
“Yes,” he responded, his metallic eyes staring into her brown ones unflinchingly.
She took in a shuddering breath. “So...” Her throat choked up, dry as sand in her mouth. “Why didn't you tell me this before? You didn't have to be with me.” She swallowed again. “Why didn't you take the necklace off?”
The silences between them were getting to be uneasy, unspoken words floating in the air.
“What good would that have done?” he asked her in return, skirting around the answer she really wanted. Ginny stayed still.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, sighing. He pulled his cloak tight around him, eyes settling on a tombstone in the background, while Ginny tried to piece together what she had learned.
She interrupted the quiet brazenly, “How does this whole thing work? What else did it say in the book?”
He shrugged, “Just that. It didn't explain much, but I think you know how it goes. After all, we've experienced it numerous times before.” His voice was scattered over the wind that had begun to blow again, picking up dead leaves from the ground and depositing them around the pair. He added, “Naturally, when one or even two people die who have that connection with each other, the spell is broken. It only works on the living.”
“It's such an intense spell,” Ginny mused after he finished, fingering the black string on which the metal crescent hung. “If we take it off, we won't have to do this anymore. We won't get the premonitions, won't have it affecting our lives.”
“I know,” he said strangely, hoarsely – Ginny was compelled to look up. When she did, she nearly choked on her next words, eyes wide and focused on Draco's body, which had begun to, bit by bit, fade out. He didn't seem to notice the changes happening to him, placidly staring off into the night. The air around him shimmered, as if an invisible substance was moving in it; Draco's skin turned lily-white, his eyes sunk deeper into his head, his skin became translucent, see-through. Ginny was shocked, frozen to the spot as she watched Draco transform; her muscles wouldn't support her weight and her whole form quivered. Impulsively, she managed to reach a hand out towards him, but passed through such a freezing disruption in the air that she immediately pulled it back, breathing hard.
He turned his head towards her then, smiling sadly. “Thank you, Ginny,” he told her.
She croaked out, “For what?”
“For helping me get through this night.” His tone had been altered; it was more melodious. “Whenever we get together for these forebodings, we discover something. You know that. Tonight's adventure was different – it was focused on us. We were supposed to find out about ourselves and you were to help me as I pass from living to ghost.”
She coughed, eyes smarting. “Y-you're a ghost.” It was not a question, nor a statement, but a declaration that she wanted confirmed.
“I am.” The answer was simple, but it tore at her inside.
“Why?” The myriad of emotion in her nearly suffocated Ginny's uttered words, latching onto her throat and making her incapable of speech. She could only gape at him as Draco replied.
“I was given a choice, of course. To die tonight or become a ghost as soon as the moon travels to mid-sky. Think of it as Voldemort's last legacy.”
“Voldemort is dead,” she spat in disbelief.
“You don't understand.” His voice betrayed no emotion, no hint at the thoughts that might have been in his head. “I didn't expect you to.” Ignorant of her facial expression, he added, “Voldemort may be dead, but his followers live on. I swore an oath to not reveal the circumstances of my change tonight. I cannot tell you how I came to be like this.”
Her lips wouldn't open to answer him; her mind was an empty slate as she fumbled to understand him. He might have taken sympathy on her condition, because he went on to say: “Ginny, remember when you could always feel what I was going through? You knew if I was sad, angry or happy. You knew me. It was part of the charm – I could feel it too. I could sense your feelings just as well as you could mine. That has always been connected to what we've gone through. I'm sorry to bring it to such an end. It doesn't work now.” He paused, then continued faster, as if his time was running out.
“I was given a choice tonight. To die or to become a ghost. At least, this way, I won't be gone forever, although I doubt I can stay in this area much longer. It was my choice, Ginny. Please understand that.” He looked around hurriedly, uttered that simple word: “Goodbye,” and half-floated, half-walked away from her, not looking back.
She willed her mouth to open, but she could not utter any words, watching him helplessly, eyes strained for the spectral glow he now emitted, but he had already gone.
It was only then, with her limp form resting on the cold ground, devoid of any warmth or comfort, that she began to realize how much he meant to her. It was only then, with her hand reaching out to where he had stood, just moments ago, body shuddering; pretending he was there, talking to her, smiling at her, laughing with her, that she began to realize how much she had loved him.
O o o o o o o O
They gawked at him, eyes enormous as he came to the end of his story. The embers in the fire had gone out long ago, a faint hiss and crackle was heard as the fire gave its last call. The window in the room was open, letting in a groaning wind that sent iced shivers through them.
“What happened next?” one of them succeeded in asking. The storyteller looked into the distance, his words bringing a sustained hush to the young crowd that had gathered.
“They say she kept on wandering, visiting the same place every night, at the same time, searching for him. She always wore her necklace, hoping that it would hold the connection she had had with him. She let her life slip by, living only in the present, thinking only in the present... feeling only in the present. Time went by and she grew older, but she nevermore stopped looking for him. As the years passed, her heart gave out and they say she died in the same place she last saw him.” He paused, speaking slowly in whispers. “On one day of each year, if you look hard enough and in the right place, you can see the outline of a man who walks around the graveyard, holding his crescent-moon trinket in his hand. He will, however long he searches, never find her.”
Fleeting Apparition by Periwinkle
Chapter Notes: A/N: I would like to extend my thanks to whoever helped me during the course of writing this story, offering me suggestions or phrases. But I would like to especially thank Kate (ms weasley) for the amazing job she did beta'ing this. I couldn't have asked for more. Last but not least, I hope you enjoy, Delaney, and that it fulfills what you wanted.