The Tale of His Roses… by HPFangirl71
I always awake to find them lying upon the pillow where his head should be. One rose is the color of snow and the other one is the color of coal. They're supposed to be a symbol of our relationship. He sees me as the light, the pure, and the good while he sees himself as the dark, the tainted, and the evil. It's been years since he took the Dark Mark and I've grown up in a time when its symbolism doesn't really mean much. All I really know is that Voldemort lived a lifetime ago and my father was the one who killed him…
Most have forgotten my lover's part in the war that killed so many. Most have learned to forgive and forget. But not my Draco, he hasn't forgotten the faces of those he saw tortured and killed. He lives with his guilt in a way that most embrace their happiness. It's the reason we keep our relationship a secret like this. He comes in the dark of night and whispers heartfelt words of love. I tell him how I wish we could be together and he says the son of the great Harry Potter deserves better than a Death Eater for a mate. It's the reason he leaves in the secret hours of dawn, knowing I'd never let him go, not without a fight. It's easier for him to leave in secret just as he arrives, leaving only his roses as a token of his shameful love for me.
I sniff their heady perfume and revel at how perfect every petal is that's been created by his magic. I think about how happy we were in the midnight black of evening and it makes me wish again that he'd stayed to say goodbye. I wish that he could see that I love him regardless of whom or what he thinks he is. I feel the stabbing pain within my heart as I think of everything he chooses to throw away. It's only a matter of moments before my tears begin to fall because roses can't hold you tight in the light of the early morn…