'I do.'
'Then stop. How long are you going to torture yourself like this, Seamus?
How long are you going to torture me?'
She knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say.
'You don't have to stay with me, Ginny.' His voice was flat. 'I would understand if you left me. Anyone would.'
She half-closed her eyes. In the darkness she saw the Liber-Damnatis, the diary dripping its black ink blood across her fingers as she hauled it from the fire, the pages flying like startled birds as she ripped them from the binding. I hate you, Tom. I hate you. 'But Seamus,' she protested. 'I want to help you get better. I need you to get better.'
He looked at her. 'Why?'
She floundered for a moment. 'Because I love you.'
His face softened. 'Ginny…' He reached out a hand, drew her hair away from her face, stroking the line of her cheekbone. For a moment he was the freckled boy who had kissed her behind the Quidditch shed before Christmas, who had invited her to visit his house in Ireland and meet his family. He had never reissued the invitation; she didn't know if it was because he wasn't sure of her or if it was because he was avoiding his bewildered, loving parents, who seemed to know there was something very wrong with their son — but not what.
Of course no one knew what. Even Seamus didn't properly seem to know what; he only knew the nightmares, the strange voices that whispered to him at night, the bits and fragments of words and images that made his life a living hell. In all of it, there was only Ginny he drew comfort from; she was all that stood between him and the darkness.
She pressed her cheek into his hand. 'Maybe you should get some rest.
We could go up to the common room…'
'I was thinking of a walk,' he said. 'We could go to the rose garden.'
'No!' she said, so sharply that he dropped his hand. The garden full of stars like cold ice slivers, snow on the roses — 'It'll be cold,' she finished, lamely. 'I should get my cloak at least.'
He stepped back, his eyes clouded. 'That's all right. I should take some time on my own.' He spun and stalked away, shoulders set rigidly. Ginny watched him go, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. Run after him, said her brain, he wants you to follow him. But a thick exhaustion kept her rooted to the spot. To have some time on her own — a chance to rest alone by the fireplace -
'I was thinking of a walk,' he said. 'We could go to the rose garden.'
'No!' she said, so sharply that he dropped his hand. The garden full of stars like cold ice slivers, snow on the roses — 'It'll be cold,' she finished, lamely. 'I should get my cloak at least.'
He stepped back, his eyes clouded. 'That's all right. I should take some time on my own.' He spun and stalked away, shoulders set rigidly.
Collapsing against the wall, Ginny watched him go, her teeth sunk into her lower lip. Run after him, said her brain, he wants you to follow him.
But a thick exhaustion kept her rooted to the spot. And she had to admit the idea of being alone appealed to her. Not to be watching someone constantly for signs of changes in their mood, not to be constantly alert for signs that she was needed — just to be able to collapse on the couch in front of the Gryffindor fireplace and shut her eyes — 'You know,' said a drawling voice behind her, 'I find Dumbledore's speeches a bit dull myself, but normally I just sleep through them. This business of charging out of the Great Hall in hysterics is eye-catching, but possibly not practical — '
'Don't drivel,' said Ginny dully, turning her head to see Draco coming down the corridor towards him. It had been a long time since she'd really looked at him and the change in his appearance startled her. She remembered the thin boy who sat next to her bed the night she'd found the antidote for him and nearly died in the process. She remembered the hollows under his eyes, dark as if they'd been drawn there with ink. They were gone now, and so was the haunted thinness; nothing remained of his ordeal except the thick scarring on his left hand and a slightly intensified silver cast to his eyes.
'I'm not driveling,' he protested. 'You are,' she said. 'You know perfectly well why I ran out of the hall and it wasn't because the speech was boring.'
He raised his eyebrows. 'Honesty,' he said. 'How diverting.'
'Seamus wasn't well,' she explained. 'I had to see if he was all right.'
Draco spread his long-fingered hands wide. She could see the thick double-cross shaped scar that disfigured his left palm. 'You do realize,' he said, 'you've become on of those sorts of girls.'
'What sorts of girls?'
'I've heard you talking in the halls,' he said blithely, 'not that you ever talk to me any more, of course, but you have a carrying voice. Every other word you say is either 'Seamus' or sometimes, for variation, 'Shay' which I take to be some sort of repellent nickname for our potato-like Finnegan.'
Ginny leaned her cheek against the cool stone of the wall. 'Jealous?' she said, and immediately regretted it. She didn't want to provoke Draco, she wanted him to leave her alone. Just being as close to him as she was right now made her feel as if she were being turned inside out.
'Yes,' he said, 'I was so hoping I'd get a chance to apply for the position of permanent nursemaid and caretaker to a possibly dangerous lunatic, but you beat me to it.'
'Seamus isn't dangerous. Or a lunatic. He's — '
'Broken?' Draco suggested.
Ginny felt the ghost of a smile flit across her face. 'I prefer to think of him as… sprained.'
Draco didn't laugh. 'You like fixings things that are broken,' he said. 'I ought to know. Interesting, isn't it, that you haven't spoken to me since I was cured?'
'That's not — '
'The only conclusion I can come to is that you liked me better dying,' he said. 'But now you have Finnigan to put back together, you don't need me any more.'
Ginny drew herself upright. She could feel her tiredness in her bones, her wrists and back: they burned. 'That's not fair.'
'I'm not interested in whether it's fair,' he said. 'I'm interested in whether it's true.' He took a step towards her; the torchlight flared up, and threw a shower of gold sparks across his pale face and silver hair. The curl at the corner of his lip was so familiar she could have traced it in her sleep…
'Is it that hard a question?'
