"Run away with me."
It was a serpent's hiss and and a siren's aria all in one, and all around her were the invisible armies conjured up by imagination. Though if they'd truly been surrounded, he wouldn't have had the time to ask that of her.
It was unfair how he never used that voice with anyone else. If only it were mocking, or moody, or even gleeful, she thought that she could have turned away. Ginny closer her eyes and shook her head, and the slim hands pressing hers tightened in response.
"Nothing matters any more, you know."
Neither of them were black or white, not any more. It was a dark day for the Order last year when Bellatrix Lestrange had deposited the Cruciatus-torn girl in the Malfoy dungeon, and between blinding pain and ice-clear truth potions, Ginny's words were torn from her bloodied lips. There was blood on her hands-- the blood of former classmates and now-gone friends.
And every night, after the interrogations, was rest, when a flickering candle not held by a House Elf would shine in the darkness, and for the first few months, she didn't even realize who it was that bathed her lips and hair in cool water and held her still and steady as the Cruciatus tremors subsided. She'd heard of a new double-agent in the Order, but Mrs. Lestrange had made the mistake of capturing her before she knew his name.
She had barely restrained from screaming when she first gazed at him and realized who he was.
The raids came and went, but Malfoy Manor was too well-guarded for them to break through. After the first few, she had lost hope of being liberated, and merely clung to the hope that he would be safe. They kissed for the first time after one raid, when his mother had been captured to join his father in Azkaban. She had held him in her arms, not daring to make a noise, and wondered why it felt so natural to be comforting him, why her fingers felt almost accustomed to running through his disheveled hair. When their lips had met, it had been an accident, because he had turned his head to hide his sorrow when she had leaned over to brush her lips over the cut on his cheek. And then it was as though both of them had been waiting to do it for years.
"They're still my parents," he whispered to her, afterwards. She nodded, and she should have condemned him then.
Both of them were traitors.
It was the final raid that had finally broken through the Manor's defenses, and she was sure that it was his doing. She had not even seen him after Harry and Ron had broken through and pulled her out of the dungeons, and she had feared the worst.
That was three weeks ago, and she'd overheard whispers from her parents talking of Death Eaters out for blood, and she knew who they were after.
"We'll run, Ginny," he held her in his arms now. The fair locks that fell over his forehead brushed her cheek as he bent down to whisper in her ear. "My broom is untraceable. It's the fastest one on market-- much better than Potty's." A weak chuckle escaped her lips. "Dumbledore has cast a Fidelius charm upon me for my protection. We can go anywhere. It doesn't matter any more."
"I..." Her mother's heart would break if she left them once more. And yet, she would not have returned had it not been for him... she would never have seen the light of day again.
"Can't you see? We're the only constants in each other's lives any more. We don't have anything else to hold onto," his voice was rough, pleading, and perhaps years ago she would never have associated sincerity or passion with Draco Malfoy. But his hands were hot around hers and she felt herself relenting even before she pressed her damp cheek against his.
"We'll be back someday, won't we?" she murmured.
"Yes we will," he answered, pulling her tightly into his arms before moving both of them towards the window of her room. "I promise."
She let him throw the invisibility cloak over both of them and wrapped her arms around his waist as they rose into the cold night air. He'd never broken a promise to her yet, and in the deepest part of her heart, she trusted him more than anyone else.
What should have been a painful separation from all they'd ever known felt curiously light, tantalizingly like the taste of freedom. They'd live as traitors no longer.