And the Twilight Sounds, Part IV - A Map of the World
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Summary: "No matter where you are, you can find your way back home." The ghosts that haunt Ginny Weasly after the Second War lead her to Sierra Leone where she seeks escape but instead, learns of hope and the endurance of innocence from the unlikly figure of Draco Malfoy.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Many thanks to my wonderful betas,
dragonlilleth,
fallenwitch, and
jandjsalmon. I am infinitely grateful for all their help. Considerable research went into this fic - however, any errors concerning Sierra Leone are my own.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Part IV - A Map of the World
Looking towards the shore from the Moa River: http://www.greenebean.com/julie/pictures/sierraleone/apr04/moarivergrass.jpg
It is dawn when she leaves Draco Malfoy and he looks so beautiful against the breaking light as the boat moves away from him that she has to bite her lip - hard - from crying out. She thinks he will turn and leave. He has much to do. But no, he stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets and in his torn shirt, staring out. At her. She can still smell him though Aiah is taking them further and further away, across the Moa River, with his one arm. But she continues looking at him, though she can hardly make out his features anymore, though he is a small point in the distance, though finally, the only way she can see him is in her mind’s eye.
They are far enough that she can see most of the island’s northern shoreline and she touches her left ring finger. It has the torn ribbon tied so tightly around it, she can feel her pulse there. It is like the heart of Africa pulsing. And she looks up at the sky and wishes it would rain.
***
She doesn’t tell him that she doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t say that she has to go. They just stand there as the twilight recedes and finally, he reaches behind her to pull the ribbon from her hair. The red locks fall about her shoulders and he says to her, “I like your hair down.”
“Tell me on the last day, you prat,” she huffs at him.
But they speak in whispering tones. As though speaking any louder would disrupt the careful balance between them. But it will take much more than that.
He reaches out again but this time, he picks up her left hand. They haven’t touched since they’ve disentangled themselves from each other that morning. But it doesn’t matter. He is still burning on her skin. But she likes his rough hands and warm touch all the same and she smiles when he plays with her fingers.
“Hold your hand up,” he says to her.
She looks at him inquisitively. “This isn’t another joke, is it?”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says.
She nods at him and holds up her hand. Taking the ribbon, he twines it around her ring finger. “Promise me something,” he says when he has knotted it.
“Yes,” she whispers back. She wants to say yes to everything he says as they inch towards each other. The sounds of the island waking up and the sun breaking over the horizon do not catch her attention. It is his lips and his eyes that consume her.
“Promise me you’ll remember me.”
What a silly thing for him to say. How could she forget him? He is the white heart lodged within her. But she does promise him. “I do,” she whispers against his lips.
***
It has been over two years since she has last seen Draco Malfoy. And she thinks of going to Sierra Leone, to that narrow strip of runway in Lungi and onto the MI8 with its loud propellers. And she thinks how differently she would feel about lying on that sagging bed with the mosquito netting above, fluttering silver in the moonlight, and about having Draco’s firm hands on her waist. And she misses him in a way that hurts. She sees his stormy eyes and the way he smiles at the children playing with their bare feet. She sees the way he looks at the island and the way he looks at her and she sighs once in a while at her desk and touches the ribbon on her finger.
But she can’t go. Not yet. Even though she fears that as time passes, it will be harder and harder to go back. Because what if things have changed? What if he has forgotten her? But she cannot dwell on things she cannot control. She can only take on the things she can. And strive for a better Britain, a new wizarding world, so that when she does go back, it will not be because she’s running away, it will be because she’ll be ready to show him that she has remembered him and she has learned and done so much under his care, because of his care, because of him.
“Ginny?”
The voice is accompanied by a knock at her door and Ginny looks up, startled. “Oh, Ron, hello.”
“You’re still here, Ginbug?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“You’re still here,” she observes.
“Yeah, but I was just heading out.” He holds up his briefcase as proof. “It’s Friday night. Go home. Go on a date. Do something!”
“There was a time when you tried to stop me from going on dates,” she counters, tracing the turns of her ribbon underneath the desk.
“But Ginny…you should…” And he falls silent. They’ve had this discussion before.
Ginny wants to say something but she doesn’t know what. She can’t tell her brother that every date she’s been on, Draco Malfoy’s sarcastic voice is providing running commentary the entire time. “I can’t believe you would date someone whose trousers are too short. Look! The leg doesn’t even meet the top of his shoes. And don’t get me started on those socks! Everyone knows penguins are much cooler than teddy bears.”
Never mind it feels so wrong. Not so much because it is a betrayal of him but because it is a betrayal of her own heart.
"There's this new block in my department. He said he didn't have any plans tonight," Ron said, taping his chin thoughtfully.
But Ginny shakes her head. She picks up a brochure she had received in her Muggle mailbox a few days ago and waves it in the air. "I never said I didn't have any plans."
Ron raises an eyeborw.
"There's this exhibt at the museum, " she explains.
"You're going to a museum on a Friday night?"
"It's on Africa!" she protests.
"You and Africa." He sounds resigned. "It's not like you've ever been there," he reasons.
She looks down. She has never told Ron about Sierra Leone, she has never told anyone. It is something she wants to keep to herself, for herself, though she has encouraged family and friends to donate to various Muggle issues at home and abroad. She asks instead, "How are Lavender and the baby doing?"
Ron smiles. "They're great. They're just great." He usually launches into long inarticulate speeches about his new son and his wonderful, wonderful wife but this time he pauses for a moment before saying, "I can't believe I was such a jerk to her at Hogwarts. What was I thinking?"
"Things change," Ginny replies, smiling her own secret smile. "People change."
"Yeah, they do," he says, nodding. He runs a hand through his hair and he half-turns, like he is going to leave but he stops and looks at her inquisitively.
Ginny frowns. "What?"
"Well..." he begins, then shakes his head. "No, never mind."
"No, say it!" she laughs at the uneasy look on her brother's face. Ron, of all her brothers, makes the best faces, even if he does not mean to. "I'm your sister. What can't you say to me?"
Ron looks at her in horror. "There are plenty of things you can never say to a sister!" And they laugh for a moment, together, before he calms down and smiles gently at her. "I don't mean to offend you but..."
"Oh, no, what is is?" she replies good-naturedly. "You're not going to make fun of my bunny slippers again, are you?"
"Well, they have fangs, Ginny. But no, it's just..." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. "You've changed a lot. After the war, of course. But recently. You've done so much with the Reconstruction and it's...I just..." Ron throws his hands up in the air. "What I mean to say is...I'm proud of you."
Ginny blushes. A buble of pride rises but she is also reminded that Ron has been doing this since the beginning. He never gave up on wizarding Britain.
"I know it was hard for you when Dad died.
"It was hard on all of us," Ginny interrupts, shaking her head.
"I know, but you took it really hard, and none of us knew what to do. I mean, Dad was always best at these things," he says, looking a the ground. But then he looks up at her and smiles, "But of course, I should've known you would get back on your feet again."
He gestures at her private office. "And now, you're in the International Division for Reconciliation. Maybe one day, they'll give you an assignment in Africa and you can visit."
"Yeah, maybe," she smiles.
"Anyway, I've got to get back to the wife. She wants me to pick up milk on the way home," he says rolling his eyes. "I live an utterly boring and mundane life."
"And you love it," she says.
"Yeah, well, don't tell her that. She may use it against me." But Ron has a goofy grin on his face and adds, "But I may like that too."
Ginny is the one to make a face this time and Ron laughs. "Have fun tonight," he says as he walks out the door. "But remember, Sunday brunch at the Burrow."
"I'll be there," she says, waving him off.
***
She likes walking through Muggle London. In the summer months, there is a certain hour between light and dark that she enjoys the most. The tourists are not cloggin the streets and filling the air with their loud sounds and clicking away with their picture-taking devices and the night revelers have yet to creep out. She knows it is uncharitable to want beauty without this sort of noise, but then she knows of a different beauty and a different sound that echoes in her dreams and with the beat of her heart.
The sun is setting but it is still light enough for her to look at the brochure she had received. She doesn't usually get mailings from the Tate group and though she enjoys museums, she does not frequent them. This has been a stroke of luck because the new exhibit is "Seeing Africa" and it makes her feel a little closer to Draco just thinking about it.
She has been reading about Africa in Muggle history books and newspapers. And Hermione had mentioned something called "inter-net." Though she has not searched there yet, she knows enought about this once enigmatic place to assess the accuracy of the brochure. After all, she knows all too well that brochures can be deceiving.
In the dimming light, she reads: "These works were made between 1800 and 1960 during the colonial occupation of areas where European rule left a legacy of violence. But for most of the traveling European artists, the people they saw were simply part of a vista of African flora and fauna."* She frowns while glancing at the crossway. It tells her to look right. She checks for cars and then crosses.
The passage is accurate. But it doesn't make her happy about the content and she wonders if it hadn't been for Draco, she would've thought the same thing too. That these people are merely part of the "flora and fauna," as it is worded. Her frown deepens a little. Could she have really walked through Sierra Leone and not have noticed? She shakes her head. She doesn't think it is possible.
She is walking along the river and will cross at Lambeth Bridge and go south to the Tate Britain. It is generally busy near the bridge with autos at the roundabout. But the view of the river and the House of Parliament is impressive and she likes to take a moment to look at it as the lights on the building begin to illuminate the ornate architecture.
She reads a little more: "These works pose complex questions about representation, about the interplay between artist, subject and viewer, and about the role of the artist within a fragile social and political environment. The works can be viewed in several contradictory ways - as a historical exercise in colonial propoganda, as a network of romantic illusions, as a valiant attempt to grasp the essence of another culture, or even as a transcendent vision of beauty."* She likes what it says here and with a nod, she slides the brochure into her jacket pocket and walks with quicker steps to the museum. She wants to see if these paintings will show what the brochure has promised, what she knows is true of the heart of Africa.
But when she walks in, her eyes are automaticall drawn to the map of the world stretched across one wall of the room. And she walks towards it instead of the other artwork that are actually part of the exhibit. But she cannot see the African continent because a man is standing in front of it. And even from behind, she can tell it is Draco. Her heart skips a beat - several - and she fondly things, "Of course that prat is blocking my view."
He is not staring at the map with that faraway look she is familiar with. Instead, he is frowning down at his starch white shirt. And it makes her smile as he scratches his chest through the Oxford. She must agree, she prefers his old shirt.
She is reaching for his shoulder when he says without looking, "I was wondering when you would come," so instead of touching him, she walks up to stand beside him.
He is clean-shaved and well-dressed, in a collared shirt tucked into black pants, and she finds this odd. She is sure most people would assume Draco Malfoy would look well put-together all the time but this is not the Draco Malfoy she knows.
"How did you know I would come?"
He rolls his eys. "I sent you the bloody brochure."
Ginny stares at him.
"Close your mouth. You look like a fish," he chastises.
"Would that matter?" she asks, nonetheless closing her mouth the moment she stops speaking.
"No, of course not. But I would have to look at it all the time, " he snaps.
As his words sink in, she blinks at him, concerned that this is all a dream. "Are you going to stay here?"
"No," he says firmly and swiftly. Of course it would be too good to be true. "I have to go back. I can't leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And you can't leave yet either." He turns to face her on head on for the first time and his silver storm eyes look steadily at her.
She never wants to stop looking at those eyes but she forces herself to bite her lower lip and query, "But you're here - did something happen?"
"Tobias," he sneers. "He was caught smuggling diamonds."
"Oh!" She has not read this but then she remembers the stack of newpapers piling up by the door of her flat that she had meant to read this weekend.
"I've been called to the trial. They said they would put me up in a hotel room but I made a deal with them. I would find my own accomodations if they donated the money to a fund for the sanctuary." He is looking at her expectantly but she does not blush and look away. Not this time.
"Of course," she says, nodding. She wants to ask him if it feels hot in the room or say something about how white the walls are but it all sounds stupid and uninspired. But then she ends up saying something equally asinine anyway. "Anything else new?"
He arches a blond eyeborw. "I formally adopted Sheku." The boy without any arms. She knew he had favored him.
"Wonderful," she says and she means it. "You'll teach him all of your charms, I'm sure."
"Are you accusing me of being charming?" he asks, making a face.
She laughs. Leave it to Draco to repudiate a compliment. Merlin, she misses him. And wonders if it is possible for her to miss him even more when he leaves this time around. "How long do I have you for?"
He tilts his head. "Forever."
And she wants to sob. But she doesn't. Instead, she touches the ribbon around her finger. It has become a reflexive reaction whenever she needs comfort. Even though he is standing right in front of her. "No, really." No jokes. They can't joke about this. "You said you can't stay."
"No. But you can come see me."
"Draco..." she begins but he interrupts her harshly. "You are a witch, aren't you?"
"Well, yes..." she replies uncertainly, not knowing what he is getting at.
"You have a wand, at the very least," he says, rolling his eyes.
Someone comes up to look at the map but Draco will not budge. Ginny shifts to give the other woman room. But she is not really looking at the map but at Draco, batting her long eyelashes at him. Ginny glares at this intrusive blond and steps towards Draco.
"But you know I can't take a wand abroad. There are rules," she whispers, feeling irrationally smug about standing so close to him. It's not like she owns him. But she does want to tell his woman that yes, he is a fantastic shag, the best, well...the only, but she shakes herself a little before continuing on. "And I just - "
The woman is glaring back at her. And Ginny stops to give her her most menacing look.
She hears Draco sigh. "Are you part of this conversation or not? Or have you had a change in preference that you need to inform me about?"
Ginny turns back. "No!" Her voice echoes in the white room and she blushes.
"Because it's okay. Well, it's not but I can't compete you know."
"Ergh," she huffs in frustration - not hearing any of his comments. "I could've shouted in the forest all I wanted."
"Well, I know that," Draco says smugly.
She blushes again and tries to shift back to their previous conversation. "You need permission to Apparate internationally, you know."
Draco is rolling his eyes again. "And what department do you work in now?"
"Well, I..." Oh. "It's certainly easier for me to do it but it'll still be illegal."
"Then break the laws. Come dally on the other side with me for a while." He smirks at her. She is sure she looks very tempted to take his invitation because she is. "Or, change the laws. Anyway," he continues, as though he hasn't been talking about more than altering international Apparating laws because he has been - she knows him, she knows he is thinking about all that has been changed by believing and thinking and being and doing. "We work during the day anyway. What do you do at nights? Go to museum exhibits all the time?"
"You can spend the nights with me. I have a hammock now," he says, winking. "And I might be convinced to share it." How magnanimous of him. "And I don't know, I'll take a holiday once in awhile. I guess England is not such a bad place around Christimastime. But have you ever been to Wales? Wales is a white dream during Christimas. I'm sure Sheku would like to see it, too."
She looks at him though he is no longer looking at her. He is staring at the map, with his hands in his pockets, his silver eyes looking over the plane of land and water. He doesn't belong in this sterile room, she thinks. She doesn't realize she has actually said this out-lound until he asks, "Where do I belong then?"
"At home."
"And where is that?"
"In Sierra Leone," she replies in a whisper. "And with me."
Draco smiles. He had been looking sour all this while but now, he is clearly happy though he hasn't turned to look at her yet. But it doesn't matter. It is enough to maker her happy too.
"This will work," he says, nodding. "As long as we're both willing to make it work."
And she laughs. And she smiles. "Who would've thought you, a Malfoy, would be so adamant about working?" And she takes the few steps to close the distance between them and she wraps her arms around him. And this time - unlike that day over two years ago when she did the same thing in a marketplace in Sierra Leone - he does the same. She whispers the Krio phrase he had taught her into his chest, "A de go na os."
And she looks up, expecting him to be looking at the map of the world still, but instead, his rainstorm eyes are entirely focused on her.
*quoted directly from Tate Britain - Seeing Africa, About
**A de go na os: "I am going home.
The End
Appendix
Summary: "No matter where you are, you can find your way back home." The ghosts that haunt Ginny Weasly after the Second War lead her to Sierra Leone where she seeks escape but instead, learns of hope and the endurance of innocence from the unlikly figure of Draco Malfoy.
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Many thanks to my wonderful betas,
dragonlilleth,
fallenwitch, and
jandjsalmon. I am infinitely grateful for all their help. Considerable research went into this fic - however, any errors concerning Sierra Leone are my own.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Part IV - A Map of the World
Looking towards the shore from the Moa River: http://www.greenebean.com/julie/pictures/sierraleone/apr04/moarivergrass.jpg
It is dawn when she leaves Draco Malfoy and he looks so beautiful against the breaking light as the boat moves away from him that she has to bite her lip - hard - from crying out. She thinks he will turn and leave. He has much to do. But no, he stands there, with his hands shoved in his pockets and in his torn shirt, staring out. At her. She can still smell him though Aiah is taking them further and further away, across the Moa River, with his one arm. But she continues looking at him, though she can hardly make out his features anymore, though he is a small point in the distance, though finally, the only way she can see him is in her mind’s eye.
They are far enough that she can see most of the island’s northern shoreline and she touches her left ring finger. It has the torn ribbon tied so tightly around it, she can feel her pulse there. It is like the heart of Africa pulsing. And she looks up at the sky and wishes it would rain.
***
She doesn’t tell him that she doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t say that she has to go. They just stand there as the twilight recedes and finally, he reaches behind her to pull the ribbon from her hair. The red locks fall about her shoulders and he says to her, “I like your hair down.”
“Tell me on the last day, you prat,” she huffs at him.
But they speak in whispering tones. As though speaking any louder would disrupt the careful balance between them. But it will take much more than that.
He reaches out again but this time, he picks up her left hand. They haven’t touched since they’ve disentangled themselves from each other that morning. But it doesn’t matter. He is still burning on her skin. But she likes his rough hands and warm touch all the same and she smiles when he plays with her fingers.
“Hold your hand up,” he says to her.
She looks at him inquisitively. “This isn’t another joke, is it?”
“This isn’t a joke,” he says.
She nods at him and holds up her hand. Taking the ribbon, he twines it around her ring finger. “Promise me something,” he says when he has knotted it.
“Yes,” she whispers back. She wants to say yes to everything he says as they inch towards each other. The sounds of the island waking up and the sun breaking over the horizon do not catch her attention. It is his lips and his eyes that consume her.
“Promise me you’ll remember me.”
What a silly thing for him to say. How could she forget him? He is the white heart lodged within her. But she does promise him. “I do,” she whispers against his lips.
***
It has been over two years since she has last seen Draco Malfoy. And she thinks of going to Sierra Leone, to that narrow strip of runway in Lungi and onto the MI8 with its loud propellers. And she thinks how differently she would feel about lying on that sagging bed with the mosquito netting above, fluttering silver in the moonlight, and about having Draco’s firm hands on her waist. And she misses him in a way that hurts. She sees his stormy eyes and the way he smiles at the children playing with their bare feet. She sees the way he looks at the island and the way he looks at her and she sighs once in a while at her desk and touches the ribbon on her finger.
But she can’t go. Not yet. Even though she fears that as time passes, it will be harder and harder to go back. Because what if things have changed? What if he has forgotten her? But she cannot dwell on things she cannot control. She can only take on the things she can. And strive for a better Britain, a new wizarding world, so that when she does go back, it will not be because she’s running away, it will be because she’ll be ready to show him that she has remembered him and she has learned and done so much under his care, because of his care, because of him.
“Ginny?”
The voice is accompanied by a knock at her door and Ginny looks up, startled. “Oh, Ron, hello.”
“You’re still here, Ginbug?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“You’re still here,” she observes.
“Yeah, but I was just heading out.” He holds up his briefcase as proof. “It’s Friday night. Go home. Go on a date. Do something!”
“There was a time when you tried to stop me from going on dates,” she counters, tracing the turns of her ribbon underneath the desk.
“But Ginny…you should…” And he falls silent. They’ve had this discussion before.
Ginny wants to say something but she doesn’t know what. She can’t tell her brother that every date she’s been on, Draco Malfoy’s sarcastic voice is providing running commentary the entire time. “I can’t believe you would date someone whose trousers are too short. Look! The leg doesn’t even meet the top of his shoes. And don’t get me started on those socks! Everyone knows penguins are much cooler than teddy bears.”
Never mind it feels so wrong. Not so much because it is a betrayal of him but because it is a betrayal of her own heart.
"There's this new block in my department. He said he didn't have any plans tonight," Ron said, taping his chin thoughtfully.
But Ginny shakes her head. She picks up a brochure she had received in her Muggle mailbox a few days ago and waves it in the air. "I never said I didn't have any plans."
Ron raises an eyeborw.
"There's this exhibt at the museum, " she explains.
"You're going to a museum on a Friday night?"
"It's on Africa!" she protests.
"You and Africa." He sounds resigned. "It's not like you've ever been there," he reasons.
She looks down. She has never told Ron about Sierra Leone, she has never told anyone. It is something she wants to keep to herself, for herself, though she has encouraged family and friends to donate to various Muggle issues at home and abroad. She asks instead, "How are Lavender and the baby doing?"
Ron smiles. "They're great. They're just great." He usually launches into long inarticulate speeches about his new son and his wonderful, wonderful wife but this time he pauses for a moment before saying, "I can't believe I was such a jerk to her at Hogwarts. What was I thinking?"
"Things change," Ginny replies, smiling her own secret smile. "People change."
"Yeah, they do," he says, nodding. He runs a hand through his hair and he half-turns, like he is going to leave but he stops and looks at her inquisitively.
Ginny frowns. "What?"
"Well..." he begins, then shakes his head. "No, never mind."
"No, say it!" she laughs at the uneasy look on her brother's face. Ron, of all her brothers, makes the best faces, even if he does not mean to. "I'm your sister. What can't you say to me?"
Ron looks at her in horror. "There are plenty of things you can never say to a sister!" And they laugh for a moment, together, before he calms down and smiles gently at her. "I don't mean to offend you but..."
"Oh, no, what is is?" she replies good-naturedly. "You're not going to make fun of my bunny slippers again, are you?"
"Well, they have fangs, Ginny. But no, it's just..." He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts. "You've changed a lot. After the war, of course. But recently. You've done so much with the Reconstruction and it's...I just..." Ron throws his hands up in the air. "What I mean to say is...I'm proud of you."
Ginny blushes. A buble of pride rises but she is also reminded that Ron has been doing this since the beginning. He never gave up on wizarding Britain.
"I know it was hard for you when Dad died.
"It was hard on all of us," Ginny interrupts, shaking her head.
"I know, but you took it really hard, and none of us knew what to do. I mean, Dad was always best at these things," he says, looking a the ground. But then he looks up at her and smiles, "But of course, I should've known you would get back on your feet again."
He gestures at her private office. "And now, you're in the International Division for Reconciliation. Maybe one day, they'll give you an assignment in Africa and you can visit."
"Yeah, maybe," she smiles.
"Anyway, I've got to get back to the wife. She wants me to pick up milk on the way home," he says rolling his eyes. "I live an utterly boring and mundane life."
"And you love it," she says.
"Yeah, well, don't tell her that. She may use it against me." But Ron has a goofy grin on his face and adds, "But I may like that too."
Ginny is the one to make a face this time and Ron laughs. "Have fun tonight," he says as he walks out the door. "But remember, Sunday brunch at the Burrow."
"I'll be there," she says, waving him off.
***
She likes walking through Muggle London. In the summer months, there is a certain hour between light and dark that she enjoys the most. The tourists are not cloggin the streets and filling the air with their loud sounds and clicking away with their picture-taking devices and the night revelers have yet to creep out. She knows it is uncharitable to want beauty without this sort of noise, but then she knows of a different beauty and a different sound that echoes in her dreams and with the beat of her heart.
The sun is setting but it is still light enough for her to look at the brochure she had received. She doesn't usually get mailings from the Tate group and though she enjoys museums, she does not frequent them. This has been a stroke of luck because the new exhibit is "Seeing Africa" and it makes her feel a little closer to Draco just thinking about it.
She has been reading about Africa in Muggle history books and newspapers. And Hermione had mentioned something called "inter-net." Though she has not searched there yet, she knows enought about this once enigmatic place to assess the accuracy of the brochure. After all, she knows all too well that brochures can be deceiving.
In the dimming light, she reads: "These works were made between 1800 and 1960 during the colonial occupation of areas where European rule left a legacy of violence. But for most of the traveling European artists, the people they saw were simply part of a vista of African flora and fauna."* She frowns while glancing at the crossway. It tells her to look right. She checks for cars and then crosses.
The passage is accurate. But it doesn't make her happy about the content and she wonders if it hadn't been for Draco, she would've thought the same thing too. That these people are merely part of the "flora and fauna," as it is worded. Her frown deepens a little. Could she have really walked through Sierra Leone and not have noticed? She shakes her head. She doesn't think it is possible.
She is walking along the river and will cross at Lambeth Bridge and go south to the Tate Britain. It is generally busy near the bridge with autos at the roundabout. But the view of the river and the House of Parliament is impressive and she likes to take a moment to look at it as the lights on the building begin to illuminate the ornate architecture.
She reads a little more: "These works pose complex questions about representation, about the interplay between artist, subject and viewer, and about the role of the artist within a fragile social and political environment. The works can be viewed in several contradictory ways - as a historical exercise in colonial propoganda, as a network of romantic illusions, as a valiant attempt to grasp the essence of another culture, or even as a transcendent vision of beauty."* She likes what it says here and with a nod, she slides the brochure into her jacket pocket and walks with quicker steps to the museum. She wants to see if these paintings will show what the brochure has promised, what she knows is true of the heart of Africa.
But when she walks in, her eyes are automaticall drawn to the map of the world stretched across one wall of the room. And she walks towards it instead of the other artwork that are actually part of the exhibit. But she cannot see the African continent because a man is standing in front of it. And even from behind, she can tell it is Draco. Her heart skips a beat - several - and she fondly things, "Of course that prat is blocking my view."
He is not staring at the map with that faraway look she is familiar with. Instead, he is frowning down at his starch white shirt. And it makes her smile as he scratches his chest through the Oxford. She must agree, she prefers his old shirt.
She is reaching for his shoulder when he says without looking, "I was wondering when you would come," so instead of touching him, she walks up to stand beside him.
He is clean-shaved and well-dressed, in a collared shirt tucked into black pants, and she finds this odd. She is sure most people would assume Draco Malfoy would look well put-together all the time but this is not the Draco Malfoy she knows.
"How did you know I would come?"
He rolls his eys. "I sent you the bloody brochure."
Ginny stares at him.
"Close your mouth. You look like a fish," he chastises.
"Would that matter?" she asks, nonetheless closing her mouth the moment she stops speaking.
"No, of course not. But I would have to look at it all the time, " he snaps.
As his words sink in, she blinks at him, concerned that this is all a dream. "Are you going to stay here?"
"No," he says firmly and swiftly. Of course it would be too good to be true. "I have to go back. I can't leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And you can't leave yet either." He turns to face her on head on for the first time and his silver storm eyes look steadily at her.
She never wants to stop looking at those eyes but she forces herself to bite her lower lip and query, "But you're here - did something happen?"
"Tobias," he sneers. "He was caught smuggling diamonds."
"Oh!" She has not read this but then she remembers the stack of newpapers piling up by the door of her flat that she had meant to read this weekend.
"I've been called to the trial. They said they would put me up in a hotel room but I made a deal with them. I would find my own accomodations if they donated the money to a fund for the sanctuary." He is looking at her expectantly but she does not blush and look away. Not this time.
"Of course," she says, nodding. She wants to ask him if it feels hot in the room or say something about how white the walls are but it all sounds stupid and uninspired. But then she ends up saying something equally asinine anyway. "Anything else new?"
He arches a blond eyeborw. "I formally adopted Sheku." The boy without any arms. She knew he had favored him.
"Wonderful," she says and she means it. "You'll teach him all of your charms, I'm sure."
"Are you accusing me of being charming?" he asks, making a face.
She laughs. Leave it to Draco to repudiate a compliment. Merlin, she misses him. And wonders if it is possible for her to miss him even more when he leaves this time around. "How long do I have you for?"
He tilts his head. "Forever."
And she wants to sob. But she doesn't. Instead, she touches the ribbon around her finger. It has become a reflexive reaction whenever she needs comfort. Even though he is standing right in front of her. "No, really." No jokes. They can't joke about this. "You said you can't stay."
"No. But you can come see me."
"Draco..." she begins but he interrupts her harshly. "You are a witch, aren't you?"
"Well, yes..." she replies uncertainly, not knowing what he is getting at.
"You have a wand, at the very least," he says, rolling his eyes.
Someone comes up to look at the map but Draco will not budge. Ginny shifts to give the other woman room. But she is not really looking at the map but at Draco, batting her long eyelashes at him. Ginny glares at this intrusive blond and steps towards Draco.
"But you know I can't take a wand abroad. There are rules," she whispers, feeling irrationally smug about standing so close to him. It's not like she owns him. But she does want to tell his woman that yes, he is a fantastic shag, the best, well...the only, but she shakes herself a little before continuing on. "And I just - "
The woman is glaring back at her. And Ginny stops to give her her most menacing look.
She hears Draco sigh. "Are you part of this conversation or not? Or have you had a change in preference that you need to inform me about?"
Ginny turns back. "No!" Her voice echoes in the white room and she blushes.
"Because it's okay. Well, it's not but I can't compete you know."
"Ergh," she huffs in frustration - not hearing any of his comments. "I could've shouted in the forest all I wanted."
"Well, I know that," Draco says smugly.
She blushes again and tries to shift back to their previous conversation. "You need permission to Apparate internationally, you know."
Draco is rolling his eyes again. "And what department do you work in now?"
"Well, I..." Oh. "It's certainly easier for me to do it but it'll still be illegal."
"Then break the laws. Come dally on the other side with me for a while." He smirks at her. She is sure she looks very tempted to take his invitation because she is. "Or, change the laws. Anyway," he continues, as though he hasn't been talking about more than altering international Apparating laws because he has been - she knows him, she knows he is thinking about all that has been changed by believing and thinking and being and doing. "We work during the day anyway. What do you do at nights? Go to museum exhibits all the time?"
"You can spend the nights with me. I have a hammock now," he says, winking. "And I might be convinced to share it." How magnanimous of him. "And I don't know, I'll take a holiday once in awhile. I guess England is not such a bad place around Christimastime. But have you ever been to Wales? Wales is a white dream during Christimas. I'm sure Sheku would like to see it, too."
She looks at him though he is no longer looking at her. He is staring at the map, with his hands in his pockets, his silver eyes looking over the plane of land and water. He doesn't belong in this sterile room, she thinks. She doesn't realize she has actually said this out-lound until he asks, "Where do I belong then?"
"At home."
"And where is that?"
"In Sierra Leone," she replies in a whisper. "And with me."
Draco smiles. He had been looking sour all this while but now, he is clearly happy though he hasn't turned to look at her yet. But it doesn't matter. It is enough to maker her happy too.
"This will work," he says, nodding. "As long as we're both willing to make it work."
And she laughs. And she smiles. "Who would've thought you, a Malfoy, would be so adamant about working?" And she takes the few steps to close the distance between them and she wraps her arms around him. And this time - unlike that day over two years ago when she did the same thing in a marketplace in Sierra Leone - he does the same. She whispers the Krio phrase he had taught her into his chest, "A de go na os."
And she looks up, expecting him to be looking at the map of the world still, but instead, his rainstorm eyes are entirely focused on her.
*quoted directly from Tate Britain - Seeing Africa, About
**A de go na os: "I am going home.
The End
Appendix