Work Text:
02.05.2004
The water droplets running down the back of her neck were so cold that she felt goosebumps popping up along her spine as they trickled along it. The onset of the rain had been abrupt - she wasn't dressed for this kind of weather. She checked her watch in the flickering glow radiating from the advertisements in the bus shelter. 01:25. She had been wandering around for a solid hour, and yet her thoughts still hadn't cleared. The bench was wet, but so were her jeans. She sat down with a thud, kicking her feet out in front of her and wiggling her toes in her boots, knowing she would find blisters on her ankles when she finally unlaced them to free her feet. Water had a way of making sure her skin rubbed right off, she had felt it start as soon as the puddles had started seeping in through the cracks in the worn out soles. She slid her hands under her thighs to keep them warm, and rested her head against the glass wall behind her. Maybe she should just call it a night. Sleep here and then walk back in the morning.
The tires of the few cars that were still passing by hissed quietly over the shining pavement , spraying water over the curb, not quite reaching her toes. Now that she was out of the rain, no longer moving, the spreading goosebumps gave testimony to how cold her drenched clothing was. A louder squeal of tires, headlights seen through her half closed eyelids, and a chatter of her teeth convinced her to sit up straight again and look for a option that didn't involve sleeping on a bench. A line 64 bus was just about to continue on its route. She jumped back onto her feet and through the closing doors, her socks squelching each time her feet struck the pavement.
The bus smelled a bit of wet dog, but it was warm, and the seats were - for the most part - dry. Only three of these seats were occupied. She shuffled to the back of the bus to sit at the rear-facing window. With a rattle, the bus started forward, its right indicator signalling its re-entry into non-existent traffic on an empty street. She re-assumed her previous posture, legs outstretched, head tilted back, crossing her arms as her thoughts consumed her once more.
It had been only a few stops, (three or maybe ten... She wasn't keeping track.) when she felt someone sit down across from her.
"Rough night, Weasley."
It was more greeting than query. She peeked at the intruder through her eyelashes and shrugged.
"Rough night."
Her voice came out with somewhat of a crackle, she hadn't made a sound in hours.
They sat in silence for a while. Now she was counting the stops. One... two... three... four...
He spoke again.
"Didn't figure I'd run into anyone tonight."
Her arms stayed crossed, her eyes closed.
"It's late."
One... two... three...
"Out meeting people?" He ventured.
She shook her head. He shifted in his seat,
"I see."
One...
"My stop is next."
She raised her eyebrows, half-opening her eyes. The bus was slowing down and he stood up.
"Was that an invitation?" she asked, setting her head upright again, cracking her neck and meeting his eyes properly.
"I suppose it is," he reached out a hand to help her up, but she was already on her feet. His previous smirk had lost some of its poignancy to a look of slight surprise as it became clear to him that she really was intending to get off the bus.
He pulled a sleek black umbrella from his coat and opened it out the doors before taking his first step back into the downpour. She tucked her hands into her back pockets, her sloshing boots making sure to carry her along just far enough away from him as to not benefit from the rain cover. The walk to his flat wasn't long, and they were soon making their way up the stairs to the third floor.
"Would you mind...?" he started, gesturing to her feet.
She unlaced her boots and pulled them off with force, after some consideration peeling off her socks as well and stuffing them inside. The floor was smooth beneath her waterlogged bare feet, and the air in the hallway stung a bit on her skinned ankles.
Upon entering the apartment she was unsurprised by how tastefully it was arranged. Elegant, but simple, yet clearly expensive. She wouldn't have expected anything else. He was boiling water for tea in the kitchen, his shirt sleeves pushed up, resting his elbows on the polished black countertop. Not waiting to be asked, she swung herself onto one of the two angular couches beside the coffee table. She curled her legs up underneath her and scrunched her toes against the leather.
"Milk? Sugar?" he asked from across the room.
"Just black, thanks." she replied, stealing a glance at her wrist. 02:47. Two silver inlaid china sets were carefully placed on the table in front of her, a sugar biscuit on each saucer. He nudged her shoulder and offered her a towel to sit on - clearly he didn't want her wet clothes ruining his furniture. As she set it down and adjusted herself on top, he took place across the table from her.
The ticking of the kitchen clock filled the silence between sips of tea. His smirk returned, gradually. He was never too long without it.
"You know, I'm pleasantly surprised that you agreed to this," he admitted, "It has certainly been a while since I last saw you."
"It certainly has been." She dipped her biscuit into the cooling tea before taking a bite.
"We left things on a bad note, back then." He paused, "I may even venture to say that we never really started on a good one."
She scoffed and looked up from her cup. "Yes, I would say that as well."
His smirk was wavering again, he was drinking his tea a little too quickly.
"In all honesty, that was your fault as well as mine," he averted his eyes slightly. "Can you deny it?"
"One of us is certainly more to blame that the other," she countered calmly. "Some things you di-"
"I had no choice." His eyes were suddenly hard as steel, meeting hers solidly and unapologetically. "Do you think that I don't remember the part I played? Whose conscience has been plagued more by my involvement in past events, do you figure? Yours? I think not."
His hand was clenched around the handle of his teacup. It was impressive how steadily he placed it back on its saucer beside his untouched biscuit.
"For a time I thought of nothing else," he continued, "Eventually I came to see that although the things that I did cannot be excused, I never had a choice. Never."
Slightly taken aback, her condescending retort had died on her lips. Instead she sighed and finished her biscuit.
"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" she finally asked. "That, hey, you've been thinking, and you're really not accountable for anything that happened, so let's all just forget about it and be friends?"
His lips were pressed together in a thin line by the time she finished her sentence.
"Maybe I was wrong," his voice had the sharp edge to it that she remembered all too well. "I've thought of you as an open and broad- minded person. Seeing you in such an unlikely place at such an unlikely time, today of all days, I took it as a sign to finally start again. Over the past couple years I have often considered that things could have been very different between all of us, had the situation itself been more forgiving. I see that I have not been thought of in a similar manner."
She looked down at her feet, burrowing her toes deeper into the damp towel.
"If the situation had been different... Perhaps. But it wasn't. And some things are hard to forget."
"We were young, and easily influenced," he interjected. "I think it's easy to forget how young we all were. I was... You! You were sixteen. Can you tell me, truthfully, that nothing has changed for you since then? None of your morals? Your ideals?"
Her eyes trailed along his exposed forearm, over his tattoo, and then back to meet his gaze again.
"It's impossible to remove," he muttered. "That magic runs too deep. I suppose it serves as an indelible reminder to myself as well."
She spoke carefully, trying to properly phrase her thoughts. "Of course I've changed. As have you. This conversation would have been an impossibility back then." She furrowed her brow slightly, concentrating on his face and finding, for the first time in her memory, open sincerity there. She sighed. "So, all that said, what is it that you want?"
The look of surprise shot across his face again. Since when had he been this easy to read? Maybe late night conversations always carry a bit more honesty within them than others. The characteristic smirk was creeping back into the corners of his mouth, but there was no malice in it.
"I would propose a new beginning. A new attempt. I suggest keeping the past in mind, but moving forward all the same. I know my name will never be cleared, but I want to be more than the forced and infinitely ill-advised actions of my past self. I want the opportunity to try."
The ticking from above the stove declared every passing second into the otherwise silent room. She thought that she could almost hear his heart beating in anticipation of her reaction. She looked down at her hands resting on her legs. 03:21. Maybe it was her own pulse echoing in her ears, already knowing her answer, pushing her to spit it out. She shrugged, reaching out to idly turn her teacup left and right on the saucer.
"Why not."
His eyes lit up, the signature smirk appearing in full force.
"In that case," he needlessly brushed his trousers smooth with both hands before sticking his right out towards her.
"Draco Malfoy, so nice to meet you."
"Ginny Weasley. A pleasure, I'm sure."
As she leaned forward to shake his hand, stray water droplets from her hair trickled down her collar, raising goosebumps on her back. This decision would have consequences, she knew, but she had no way of telling whether they would be good or bad.