A short story about loss - or perhaps, betrayal - told in Draco's point of view, once again. For some reason he's always been my favorite HP character to write about... which brings me to my next few words:
Everything belongs to JKR.
I imagine you lying there, precisely as I remember; the way your long, sun-kissed limbs would gently caress my face, how your lips parted as they lifted into an almost-smile, the way your tousled hair sought after the current of the wind. I imagine myself there too, and we're together again; we are close, so close that I can feel the faint pounding of your heart against my chest, your arms around my waist, the shallow rhythm of your breath against my cheek. I vaguely remember the sunlight, that vivid, bright sunlight, and how it danced between the golden branches of the trees that surrounded us and found its way onto our otherwise silhouetted bodies. My mind was in passion-fueled delirium as you wove your fingers through the platnum strands of my hair. I could feel the earth dance against my scalp, aggravated by your teasing touches. 'I love you' you would say as we rolled onto the soil behind us, the fragments of meadow which remained there sweeping against our bare skin. I loved you, too.
I imagine a little bit harder and the landscape changes; you are kneeling to the floor, coiled into a ball, crumpled and creased like a piece of paper full up on discarded thoughts of what we might have been. You would be apologetic, of course; and pathetic and useless, and remorse would be written throughout your entire body, strung out across each of your heavy limbs, straight through to your grief-stricken bones. I imagine you pressing your forehead to the carpeted bedroom floor as you sob out a broken adaptation of my name. 'Draco,' you would say, clutching just above your ribcage, where you concealed your tiny, shrunken excuse for a heart. Shaking, you would yearn for my touch to cast a spell of serenity over you, and to stitch together your fragile, broken spirit as your mother's perfectly green eyes blurred under the weight of unshed tears.
Sometimes I imagine that it isn't my imagination at all. And sometimes it works. Sometimes I will see you from across a crowded room, or lying across from me at night, your breath once again on my cheek. I yearn, I struggle, I try to capture your attention again. I am a broken heart; my love seeping through my every pore, being replaced by an empty feeling. All because you couldn't see what was in front of you; all because you couldn't see that I was broken, that you alone had the power to heal me. That it was the pieces of my heart that needed your gently soothing hands to stitch it back together, that it was my cries that kept me awake every night. It was my limbs that were twisted in agony as I stared into the void of darkness that had once again filled my life.
Sometimes I imagine still, because in those moments of make believe, you are here with me, and if only for a moment you are mine. When I am surrounded in the depths of my imagination, and you and I together…
I am alive again.