Apologise

I’m holding on your rope,

Got me ten feet off the ground.

And I’m hearing what you say,

But I just can’t make a sound.

Draco watched her go with stormy grey eyes, fighting every desperate instinct to call after her. Her hair bounced up and down, swaying with her steps, and that alone was enough to drive him mad. His itching fingers reached out to her again. No. He pulled them back in, scowling at his traitorous self for wanting her back. She had chosen. There was nothing else to be done, save for wait, watch, stay silent. Don’t let her see your weakness. She will destroy you, he thought, bitter. He was already trying to pick up the broken pieces, shattered slivers of what he had been with her. He had been brave, confident, ready to face the world to keep her at his side. But there was no time now. No more time to cling to her, yet another shining banner that she brandished proudly. “Look!” she seemed to say. “I changed him!” Her hair continued its graceful dance down her back, and he turned away, jamming his hands angrily into his pockets. His hand brushed against a smooth object. A ring. He had been planning to propose to her yesterday. Pulling it out of his pocket, he strode over to the window and dropped it, watching the diamond solitaire ring spin down through the air before hitting the pavement ten stories below with an inaudible plink. She never turned around, and he sat down stiffly, waiting until she was gone before he let himself cry.

You tell me that you need me,

Then you go and cut me down, but wait

You tell me that you’re sorry,

Didn’t think I’d turn around and say

Ginny stormed down the road, pushing the innocent passers-by aside with such an angry force that she nearly injured an old lady. She did not stop to apologize. She turned the corner and sat on a cardboard box, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her shoes, the nice ones that he had bought her- his favourites, in fact- simply rested there, staring at her, screaming at her about how she had been such a fool, how all she needed to do was to go back and beg for forgiveness, then snog him until Hell froze over. No. She wouldn’t listen to the shoes. They were just a reminder of him. With an angry shriek, she pulled one off, throwing it as hard as she could at the brick wall in front of her. The clunking noise it made as it made contact was not nearly as satisfying as it should have been. The other shoe shortly followed. A quick glance around proved that there was no one watching, and a muttered, “Incendio!” took care of the evil boots. An alley cat watched the spectacle with wide eyes, and she frowned at it, willing it to go away. She was not sure whether to be happy or annoyed that it obliged. After all, the company had been relatively soothing. She watched as the neat white folded in on itself, blackening in the flames, the smell of burning rubber acrid in the air. The ashes of the shoes whispered in the wind, and her tongue poked out at them. “Stupid shoes,” she murmured. “You’re as ugly as he was.” But she didn’t mean it.

Somewhere, just a few paltry sidewalk blocks away, a ring was being thrown out of a window.

That it’s too late to apologise, it’s too late.

I said it’s too late to apologise, it’s too late.

Too late, oh.

Draco paced the room restlessly, kicking at the furniture that stood by with a ferocity that would have alarmed the calmest of Buddhist monks. The bedclothes lay on the floor, trampled. The nightstand lay quite in pieces, the glass making a crunching noise when he trod on it. The lamp was shattered, the screen kicked in two and the light bulb’s many bits scattered carelessly around the carpet. Draco took a minute to frown and thought vaguely, Ginny’s going to be so angry. This is her favourite carpet, before realising that Ginny was gone. This caused another surge of inhuman anger, and the chair was in splinters moments later.

Ginny gazed resolutely at the wall, her brown eyes blazing a hole in the red bricks. It wasn’t her fault! He’d ended it, and she’d just never raised a protest. She had a bloody right to be angry, and she would just have to get over it. No, he. She had nothing to regret. Her thoughts became confused for a moment, and she considered calling Ron or Harry to come and pick her up. But then they’d want to know what had happened, and she would rather not tell them, if it were all the same. She’d broken up with the bloke, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted him dead. The ashes flew away, hitting her in the face and she sneezed. Ha! There, Draco. That’s our relationship. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she thought, having the brief hysterical notion to throw herself to the pavement and weep. But the ashes were not his ashes, and the funeral was for a pair of shoes.

Two blocks away, someone was throwing a chair.

I’d take another chance, take a fall,

Take a shot for you.

And I need you like a heart needs a beat,

But it’s nothing new, yeah, yeah.

Draco was sitting on the bed, feet making a mark on the bedclothes below him. The pillows were all mashed up to one side, and the light had stopped its resolute flickering after he’d hit it with a Bat-Bogey hex. The bats had yet to leave, and it had only been after that he remembered that the hex was her hex, that she had been starting to mutter it before he sent her away, and that the bats had always reminded him of her brief stint with Harry. He pushed away these unwanted thoughts and directed his attention back to the white wall of his destroyed room. Perhaps he should go out and get that ring back. It had been fairly expensive, and he’d been hopelessly reckless to toss it like that. But no, the ring would remind him of her and he would end up breaking more things, something that was not all that much of a menace, save for the fact that he was out of breakable things. Also, it was tiring to have to repair so many items. The shower curtain fluttered as the air conditioner turned on, and he felt that deep depression opening up inside him again. She was gone. He walked over to the balcony and stood there, staring down at the pedestrians below. Slowly, he began to remove one of his shoes.

Ginny got up. He had split it with her, and there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her. She would just have to walk home, and woe to any poor pedestrian that barred her way. She wasn’t going to be like one of his little insecure toys, bursting into dramatic tears and running around, obviously distraught. Now she regretted burning her shoes and wished she had some more. Seeing none (even broken-hearted scorned lovers had to exercise common sense every once in a while), she sighed and performed the tricky bit of spellwork required to transfigure boxes into shoes. It probably didn’t help that the type of shoe insisted on looking exactly like the ones she had just burned. The Muggle owners of the building would most likely start at the scorch marks on their wall. Finally, as a sensible pair of trainers reluctantly flickered into being, she began to lace one.

Two blocks away, a man was doing just the opposite.

I loved you like a fire red, now it’s turning blue.

And you say sorry like the angel

Heaven let me think was you.

But I’m afraid.

Draco, having removed both shoes, was now undoing his tie at a sluggish pace. He was trying to put something off, and he hadn’t even worked out what yet. This hadn’t been the first time Ginny had stormed off angrily, but this time seemed different than the rest. Before, he’d known that he was in the right, and that she would forgive him and come back. Today, the march out of his apartment had had such a finality to it, as if both of them knew that neither was ever going to give in, both too stubborn. The tie came off, slipping through his fingers to pool on the ground. The small aglets of one shoelace gave a feeble stirring as a greeting and Draco set to work on his socks. There was no order to which he was doing things, but at the same time there was. He folded the socks neatly, all the while refusing to remember the time Ginny had taught him to do so, and walked quietly back inside. He had to repair the furniture.

Ginny stalked through the crowd, shoving people to the side and replying to all indignant cries with biting, snarky answers that Draco had refined. No, not Draco. She had been plenty snarky already. Draco had nothing to do with this. She stumbled, turning to shout at the pale man she had tripped over. The man nodded before blurring into the crowd. That was odd. He’d looked rather like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Thought-Of. The irony of it all, the fact that before, all she could think about was he, and now, she refused to think of him, struck her, and she wanted to laugh again, or maybe cry. Instead, she turned sharply on her heel, following the man who was not-quite-Draco.

Two blocks away, a blonde man was whispering, “Reparo.”

It’s too late to apologise, it’s too late.

I said it’s too late to apologise, it’s too late, whoa whoa.

Ginny was still following the man, eyes intent on his every movement, when he suddenly disappeared. There was nothing else for it. “Excuse me,” she said, squeezing past a couple holding hands and a pair of old ladies yammering on about a wedding. All around her, pairs were evident. She wanted someone to talk to, someone to kiss, someone to hug. She continued her relentless circuit of the crowd, searching for the not-quite-Draco, when a small item caught her attention. She picked it up.

Draco tested the last piece of furniture, still numb inside from the break up. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Ginny hadn’t been so damn stubborn about everything, but there you had it. She was always stubborn. He straightened out the covers one last time and turned a picture of her face down. Then, he sat on the bed, burying his eyes under his palm, rubbing his temples.

One block away, a red-haired woman was picking up a ring.

It’s too late to apologise, it’s too late,

I said it’s too late to apologise, it’s too late

Draco was tired, ever so tired, and he wanted to stop the tiredness, the evil tiredness that ate away at the core of his soul. He paced the room and thought about what had driven her away. It had started with an earring.

Ginny was kissing him, and God, it felt so damn good that for a second he’d forgotten how to breathe. He pushed back, driving her onto her knees, grinding her into the sofa, both of them panting. He whispered something into her ear- an insignificant, sweet nothing- and she laughed, a tinkling peal. He poked her and she giggled some more. They commenced the snogging again and she toyed with his fine blonde hair, which was almost white now that it was wintertime. She let out a small yelp and fished out something from behind her. “Pointy,” she giggled, before seeing what it was. Her grin slipped off of her face. She did not know it was his mother’s, and would not listen to him when he tried to tell her. “So, I wasn’t enough?” she sobbed, glaring at him as if anger would make it better. He raised an eyebrow and replied with a sarcastic retort. The volume of the room got louder, and then there was a crack. She had slapped him. They shouted some more, and then he ended it, with her red hand mark still fresh on his face.

Ginny turned the ring over, wondering what a gorgeous diamond ring was doing in the middle of the street. The pale sunlight hit her and she saw a glint of something on the inside. That was odd. It looked- it looked… Well, it looked almost wizard-made, which only made it more valuable. She frowned, then peered at the inside of the band, hoping for enlightenment in regards to the meaning of this odd ring. The inside only had a word on it: Ginny. That wasn’t right, either. One simply didn’t go about finding rings engraved with one’s name on it. Then, the meaning of the ring hit her and she sat up straighter. Draco! She shoved the ring into her pocket and dashed off, the metal band beating a rhythm on the side of her thigh.

Less than a block away, a pale, sad man was crying.

I said it’s too late to apologise, yeah, too late.

I said it’s too late to apologise, yeah, too late.

Draco was keeled over now, rocking back and forth. I was going to propose to her, he thought numbly, realising that he was in love. He needed her to survive, and it was a heady feeling. He did not like the sense of floundering he felt now that she was gone forever. The ache in the small knot in his chest grew. He padded back to the balcony, standing at the railing, staring back down into the throng of people, wondering for a brief, insane moment what would happen if he threw himself off. One leg went over the rail.

Ginny dashed over to Draco’s flat, shoving everyone aside in her rapid dash to the tall building. She ignored the doorman’s courteous, “Miss Weasley,” and only gave a contrite nod to the reception manager. The elevator would not come, regardless of her frantic pushes of the button. She ran to the stairs, all signs of pretence gone from her body. The door was jammed, and she pulled and pushed frantically, nearly screaming from frustration as it refused to give. There was a high-pitched screeching noise as it opened and she sprinted up the stairs, taking them three at a time, throwing all of her Quidditch player stamina and strength into it. She reached Draco’s floor.

One door away, a man was preparing to fall to his death.

I’m holding on your rope,