Told You I'm Bad At Translating - Blog Posts

Malfoy stood up on his forearms again, this time to move to her face. A thin silver chain slid down his neck as he loomed over her. Ginny grabbed onto it with her teeth, pulling Draco a little closer.

He wrapped his arms around her neck, pressing his lips tightly against hers.

"I hate the thought of us having to go," he breathed heavily.

"Me too," Ginny said softly, letting him puff on her cigarette.

Draco kissed her on the temple and carefully got up from the couch. He stretched lazily, spreading his arms to the sides. At that moment, Ginny really felt like she had won the lottery.

His beauty was deadly. Even now, the elastic muscles were clearly visible under the pale skin. Crimson lines were spreading along it, from the very collarbones to the hips — traces of the curse wounds still unhealed. He seemed to be a little embarrassed by them, in the same way that one is embarrassed by physical defects. But even despite the bitterness and pain woven into her heart at the sight of the scars, Ginny couldn't help but admire the strength they represented.

She thought that such bodies—antique and strong—were usually captured by sculptors. Or artists. Or poets.

What a shame, really, that she wasn't one of them.

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