Pulled Beneath the Surface: Prologue
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Well, I've started another fic, and as of right now I think I know where it's going. I really like this prologue, as it seemed to write itself. It took me all of twenty minutes to write these four pages, so I really think I'm onto something here. Enjoy!
The forest was dark, almost as though it was descending upon him, the leaves brushed and shuffled as the wind ran freely through them, flying, flying away. The trees were so tall, that to see just the edge of the foliage, you had to crane your neck as far back as it would go. Although it was dense and dark, it was suprisingly warm, as though the lone human was in a tropical forest.
The breeze blew again, this time; the figure heard the familiar call, the call he had been waiting for since he realised he was here again. It called to him once more, as faint as the breeze, as though it was far far away, but right there, in his ear. He tried to suppress a shiver. The voice was so feminine, so real, as though this wasn't a dream.
He followed it, like he had so many times before, towards the calling, towards the only glimmer of light in the black forest. He picked his way through branches, leaves, trees, shrubbery, and anything else that got in his way. The forest was silent, understanding his importance to hear and follow this vixen voice.
And soon, he was in the clearing, in the middle of the forest. A break in the leaves up above gave way to a circle of light that landed right in the centre of the clearing. And in that circle of light, there she was. She had her head bent down, her eyes closed and he hands raised above her in some sort of praise. Her red hair glowed in the light, as though her head was one big fiery glow, as if it was a halo, only this time, the halo was on fire. He could see her angel wings, as he had seen before on her, glinting and shining in the light of the forest. They were smaller than he had imagined they would be, but they looked strong, like they could lift her petite form.
He sucked in a breath, belatedly noticing what she was wearing. She looked heavenly in a small silk dress. It held to her tightly, revealing everything, and no amount of imagination could even go that far. He could see her curves, the gentle slope of her breasts, her hips. The silver dress blew from an unfelt wind, as did her fiery hair and she finally raised her head, and opened her eyes, slowly, as if waking up. She lowered her arms, and motioned to him to come closer.
"Come," her voice whispered, so soft and faint yet so clear that he heard perfectly. "Come to me," she said, again.
And he did. Slowly, as though afraid of tripping and scaring her off. He walked carefully, curiously, wonder why she wanted him closer. He stopped inches from her. She smiled and gave a small laugh. A laugh of an angel, he later decided. She raised one of her hands, and pushed away some of the hair that had fallen across his face. The touch, it felt as though he was being touched by something sacred; her skin was soft, softer than a flowers petal, and so sure of themselves. Carefully, she tilted his chin down a little, so that he could look at her in the eyes. Her warm brown eyes shone with something, yet he couldn't make it out. She smiled, and ran her other hand across his cheek, making him shiver, before pulling him down and capturing his mouth in a kiss that sent him reeling. He almost fell, and before he could even respond, she was gone and then the forest faded and he was left standing in darkness.
And that's when Draco Malfoy woke up, in a sweat, and wondering why she kept returning to him. Why did Ginny Weasley have him so under her spell that he didn't know what to do?
Ginny hummed a little tune as she sat at the desk in the library, wondering how long she had until dinner. Her potions essay wasn't getting done as it should, but she couldn't concentrate. Looking down at the two lines she had written, she decided to call it a day. There would be no use trying now, she was completely distracted by herself. She wouldn't write anymore today anyway.
Putting her stuff away, she got up and swung her bag onto her shoulder, before walking towards the entrance. That's when Draco Malfoy entered, his swagger evident, his smirk already on, and he looked around as if he owned the room. Ginny made an impatient noise; she really didn't want to have to get by him right now. But her little huff of annoyance caught his attention and he turned to look at her. Their eyes locked and both froze. Draco's smirk froze on his face, then slowly faded, as he regarded her with a mixture of rapture and wary and hate. She looked at him, her face unreadable, before pushing herself past him, almost knocking him over as she hurried outside of the corridor, leaving Draco standing by himself in the library.
She ran down the hall, not sure why she was running. The look he had given her, like he knew something to do with her, had scared her so much. Did he know about her dreams? She shook her head, as her eyes widened as her mind sorted through the endless possibilities. He couldn't, could he? She asked herself, Unless he's a dream walker. Then he knows.
He knew! He knew about her nightly dreams, about how the forest had scared her so much at first, as she walked around, trying endlessly to get out. That's when she had saw him, or at least what she had at least thought was him…
Ginny trembled with fear. This was a different nightmare than she was used to. Usually, they consisted of snakes and a dark haired wizard with an evil laugh. She shuddered and pushed her thoughts away. Slowly she walked as though being guided by invisible hands where she came upon a lake. It seemed to Ginny there had been no prior warning, there was sign of the forest clearing, and Ginny didn't notice until it was too late. She fell off the cliff, just where the tree lines receded and straight into the icy water. She cried out, but only air escaped her mouth, and water replaced it. She choked and tried to find the surface. But she didn't know what way was up or down now. She was scared. She could feel her supply of air greatly dwindling and she clenched her teeth in determination. Deftly, she swam in the direction of the fading bubbles, hoping she could make it in time, yet the pain in her chest was worsening; she felt as though she would explode. She kept swimming; telling herself it would be only a few more seconds. Yet, as she swam, the seconds seemed longer, the distance between herself and the surface greatly stretching...It seemed to take forever and the pain only got worse and worse. She began to feel light-headed, and the surface gradually sunk from her view. She closed her eyes, and gave herself up to fate.
Yet… The pain was lessening. It was receding and she dared draw in a breath, and found to her immense relief that she could. She breathed again and almost cried with joy. She wasn't dead, she was wonderfully, gloriously alive. The air surrounded her, making her nightgown stick to her body and she shivered as goose bumps scattered across her skin. It was colder than before and she wasn't sure how she had managed to survive.
She dared open her eyes, and found that she was on the cliff again. The moon was out, in it's full beauty and the air around her frosted as she breathed in and out. She could see the stars glimmer off in the distance against the midnight blue sky. She sat up, after taking a few tries; her arms seemed too tired to work. She suddenly felt that there was someone behind her. She slowly turned and almost fell back to the ground.
There, building a fire, was a white haired angel. His wings glinted and shone in the moonlight. His back was turned to her, sitting upon the ground, as he poked the fire with a stick. He was very well muscled and broad and he only wore a pair of white pants. As though realising that he was being watched, he turned to her and smiled. Ginny almost fainted. It was an exact replica of Draco Malfoy. Oh, she knew it wasn't Draco Malfoy. Because Draco Malfoy didn't smile. He smirked.
"Hello," he whispered, to her, so soft, so clear. "You look cold. Here, let me carry you to the fire," He said, standing up. Ginny tried to protest, but she seemed to be unable to speak – her voice weak from the water she had swallowed.
Walking over, he easily scooped her up, holding her close to his bare chest. There might as well been no night-gown, because between Ginny's soaked, clinging excuse of a night-gown and his bare chest, she could feel every touch, every movement. He carried her to the fire, where a sleeping bag she hadn't seen before seemed to appear and he laid her down upon its softness. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her softly on the mouth. He tasted like chocolate, she noticed as she sunk into the kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer. Finally, he pulled away and said softly, as he ran a thumb across her cheek, "Sleep well." And he disappeared.
She would wake up after that, the only dream she remembered of the night, and then, every night for the next two weeks. It would always be the same, no detail was left out and Ginny, confused as to why Draco Malfoy haunted her, decided to avoid him until she could figure out anything.
Author's Note #2: I hoped you liked that, and I hope you do review. Reviewing enables me to improve my writing skills, which is something I'm always striving for. Thanks.