A/N: Hello to all you party people, you. OK, I know that all of you who
read my work will be pissed off with me because I haven't updated in AGES,
but this came to me in a moment of pure inspiration. Blame Klypto, not me.
She's my muse! OK, well, this is a one-shot. And it's angsty. Or it's
supposed to be. Please, please, PLEASE review - I would LOVE to know what
you think of this!
Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own the characters. *sigh* They belong to JK Rowling - she can do with them what she pleases!
WARNINGS: SLASH. Mentions of . . . umm . . . stuff. Stuff that you're not supposed to know about until you're around ten. Or something like that.
~~~~~~~~ I Will Remember You ~~~~~~~~
I still remember that month.
And I will still remember it when I'm fifty-four years old, married to Pansy with two blonde kids, living in my own estate and a famous Quidditch player for England or whatever other job takes my fancy.
I will always remember it.
It started when we both knocked into each other.
For some weird unexplainable reason, I extended my hand to help you up. You gave me that suspicious/curious look that you always used to have whilst fighting with me, and slowly and cautiously reached out for my hand, and I pulled you up.
"What's up, Malfoy?" you asked, suspicion in your voice.
I shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nothing," I said.
"Then why did you help me up?" you asked.
"I dunno," I said, keeping conversation light. To tell you the truth, I had no idea why I'd done that. I still don't now.
"What, no rude comment? No sneer? Not even a smirk?" you asked.
"Don't you have any manners, Potter? If you did, you'd have been thanking me on bended knee for even touching something as lowly as you," I sneered. But now I know that that wasn't true. You weren't lowly, or filthy. You were completely innocent.
You laughed shortly. The laugh was short, but full of merriment. I had unconsciously thought that you sounded so happy when you laughed, and that you should laugh more. You didn't laugh much after that Diggory boy was killed.
"There's the Malfoy we all know and love to hate," you chuckled.
I quirked an eyebrow.
"What's up with you, Potter? Making pleasant conversation with me all of a sudden?" I asked.
He shrugged just as nonchalantly as I had before.
"'Nothing'", you said, mimicking me.
I scowled.
"Then piss of, Potter. I don't want to waste my precious time on filth like you," I said.
"Sorry, Malfoy, no can do. We've got Potions together," you said, perfectly calm. "Oh shit!" you suddenly exclaimed.
I quirked my eyebrow again.
"Now look, Potter, I'm sorry that you forgot your camera, but I wouldn't have had time for pictures on a Monday anyway," I drawled, letting you know how arrogant about my looks I was. I guess that you already knew. About my good looks, I mean.
"No, Potions - we're five minutes late! Snape's gonna eat me for lunch!" you said - what an adorably cute phrase. I still chuckle now thinking about it. I chuckled then as well.
"'Eat you for lunch'? Nobody's gonna 'eat you for lunch', Potter. Nobody short of Voldemort, that is," I said.
You frowned at the mention of Voldemort.
"You can say his name as well?" you asked me.
I nodded.
"Of course. Fear of a name only increases-"
"- fear of the thing itself," you finished for me. You then gave me a searching look. And as quick as lightning, your eyes skimmed up and down my body. Then, it made me feel uncomfortable.
Now, what I wouldn't give for you to look at me that way again, just once.
"We're late for Potions," I muttered uncomfortably.
"Oh, right, yeah, um . . . we should get going," you said quickly, a slight blush staining your cheeks. I remember thinking that you looked so adorably cute, then silently berating myself for having thoughts like these.
We both started to walk towards the Potions dungeon, and as you walked in (you were in front of me), for some weird reason, you held the door open for me.
I gave you a questioning look as I walked through it, and you blushed and quickly took your gaze away from me, and fixed it on the floor.
"Must you always be so damn late, Potter?" Snape snapped, sounding even more bad-tempered than usual. "Twenty five points off Gryffindor," he snarled, making you wince slightly. "And you, Malfoy? Ten points off Slytherin!" my own House Master snapped.
I think that my mouth actually dropped open. I don't think that I could remember any time that you had taken points off Slytherin. I was about to protest, but I guess I didn't have to. You beat me to it.
"It wasn't his fault, sir, I was the one who was talking to him," you said quickly.
Snape gave you such a scrutinizing look that I thought that you'd melt into a puddle on the floor under his gaze, right there and then.
Most of your housemates were eyeing you suspiciously, especially Weasley and Granger.
You quickly glanced at me, and our eyes met, and then you glanced away, blushing profusely.
Snape looked from me to you, then back again. I think that he realised it before even I did. And I'm supposed to be smart.
"I see," he said softly. "Malfoy and Potter, you will both serve detention with me this evening, the dungeons, seven o'clock sharp," he said calmly. "Don't be late," he hissed dangerously, before turning his back on us and going back to write whatever it was he was writing on the board.
You gave me an apologetic look, and sat down by Weasley and Granger.
I stayed standing up for a few seconds, before taking a seat behind you, next to Blaise Zabini. He started whispering to me on why Snape was suddenly so harsh on his own house. I simply shrugged.
Why do even my so-called 'friends' find it surprising that I am told off by Snape? Sure, I was a bit surprised myself at the beginning, but only because Snape would never take off points off his own house unless he was really pissed off. Not cause I'm his favourite or anything. Or his godson, like some people seem to believe.
Me and Snape are not related in any way, not by blood, nor by water.
I fixed my ears to listen to what Weasley and Granger were saying to you.
Weasley was going on and on about how you always let your Gryffindor nature show through, and instantly jumped to defend me, even though I was a Slytherin and a Malfoy.
But Granger was just sitting there, looking thoughtful. I think that she was starting to figure it out. I think that maybe you had let something slip to her about the way you felt about me, maybe. Maybe. I don't really know.
I think that you felt me watching you, because you turned around, and when you saw that it was me, you gave me a quick half-smile. And despite everything about our so-called feuds, I gave you a small smile back.
* * * * * * *
Looking back now, I think that that small smile I gave you really made your day. I had no idea, of course. But I did know that your half-smile really uplifted my spirits, for reasons then that I did not know.
Later that day, at exactly seven pm sharp, I was waiting outside the dungeons where we had our Potions lessons.
You, of course, were late, as per usual.
"Potter," I nodded, in way of greeting.
"Malfoy," you nodded back. "Is, uh, Snape here yet?" you asked, looking around nervously. Unluckily for you, you were standing right outside the door to the dungeons, and Snape had opened it without a sound, so when you looked back and saw him, you practically screamed in fear.
It was rather amusing, watching Snape's face slowly turn into a dark scowl as you started apologising. I wondered if you apologised for everything you did. A few days later I found out that you didn't, surprisingly.
He told us that we had to sort all the mandrake roots and shrivelfig leaves out into separate bottles. Only thing is, they looked almost exactly the same, and were all mixed together so it would have taken us ages to do it. Snape left us in there for three hours, with strict instructions not to use any magic.
The second he left the room, I whipped my wand out, ready to charm the ingredients to sort themselves out, but you stopped me. Your hand grasped my arm.
"Don't," you said quietly, "he might've cast a charm that detected if we used a spell or not around this area."
As much as I hated to admit it, you had a point.
After a few seconds of silence you noticed that your hand was still on my arm, and you took it away blushing. We then proceeded to sort out the ingredients. In complete silence. For twenty minutes.
And throughout those twenty minutes, I could feel you glancing at me every now and then. Sometimes I would like at you, finding that I liked seeing you blush. You always blushed when I caught you staring.
You never stare now. You just glare. And if I catch you, you start mouthing obscenities at me (though this happens rarely) or ignore me completely.
After those twenty minutes, I started getting . . . annoyed, bored . . . aroused? I can't really remember now. The little details aren't that important.
I slammed my mandrake roots down, accidentally mixing them with the pile of shrivelfig leaves that I had carefully made on one side of the table we were at. You looked at me in surprise, eyes wide.
"What the fuck is your problem, Potter?" I snarled.
"Problem? What do . . . what do you mean, Malfoy? The only problem I have is you!" you attempted to sneer, but you couldn't do it as well as I could.
"Then why d'you keep on staring at me? Just take a bloody picture, Potter, it lasts longer!" I snapped, going back to sorting out the ingredients.
"Hey, Malfoy, it's a free country! I can do whatever I want!" you tried to protest.
I gave you a withering look.
"If you think that I will let you continue to stare at me for the rest of the evening, you are completely-"
You cut me off then. That moment I will remember forever. Not with a sharp retort. Not with a curse. Not with a punch, even. But a kiss. You just grabbed the front of my robes, pulled me towards you and kissed me. Just like that. On the mouth.
I think that it was your first kiss. It was my first one, too, actually.
It was soft and gentle and sweet and loving and passionate all in one.
You pulled back and looked at me with green wide, worried eyes.
I eased your apprehension by giving you a soft smile.
And so you kissed me for the second time that night.
* * * * * * *
So that's how it started.
For the next few days we would steal kisses in between classes, and in the evenings meet up in the Astronomy Tower, sitting together and just talking. Finding out everything we could about each other.
I got mad at those muggles you lived with for treating you like a slave.
You got mad at my parents for completely ignoring me my entire life.
I gave you comfort.
You gave me attention.
I really enjoyed spending time with you. We saw each other almost every night for three weeks and five days. We only didn't meet up when you had Quidditch practice. I didn't have any practice, for I had quit the team last year.
You kept our relationship secret from your friends, although you suspected that Granger was starting to figure it out.
I kept our relationship quiet from the Slytherins - they would skin you and me both alive if they knew.
As each day passed, I started enjoying your company more and more. One could say that I, Draco Adrian Malfoy . . . was in love.
And so, after three weeks and six days of secretly dating, we bound our essences together in one single act . . . we made love.
I was gentle with you, partly because I didn't know what I was doing, and partly because I didn't want to hurt you. That had to have been the best night of my life.
But after we had both come down from our climax, you told me those words. Those three little words. Those three little words that changed everything.
~ "I love you, Draco." ~
I said them back, of course. And I meant them. More than you can ever know.
~ "I love you too, Harry." ~
But I think that you had fallen asleep.
I stayed awake all night, thinking.
Thinking, thinking, thinking about if we had a future together.
And I came to a conclusion: we didn't.
Without me, you'd have a great chance of playing for any Quidditch team you wanted, or becoming an Auror, or a number of different jobs - all equally good.
But if you were with me . . . the wizarding world would not bode well with the fact that the Boy Who Lived was dating a Death Eater's son. They would exclude you from everything. They would make your life a living hell.
And me? I'd go to hell and back if I could just be with you. But that wasn't possible. Your happiness was all that mattered to me.
And so I left you in my own common room. You were to wake and find me gone, to think that I had used you. Hopefully that would be enough.
Enough to delay your feelings for me, that is.
* * * * * * *
All day that day (it was a Saturday, I recall), I spent walking around Hogwarts, thinking about how I could stop you from loving me.
It would be hell for me, but I knew that it would be the best for you.
I tried to avoid you, but to no avail.
You cornered me in the empty History of Magic classroom.
"What the hell was all that about?" you yelled. "You, leaving me in the morning? Do you know how scared I felt when I woke up with you gone?"
It made me feel bad. Really bad. But I pretended not to care.
"Oh, so you just don't care, is that it? You suddenly decided that you don't love me anymore?" you asked, your eyes filling with tears. My eyes were tearing up as well, but I couldn't let you see that. "I heard what you said last night, Draco Malfoy, and I just don't understand why you left me! You were just using me, weren't you?" you accused me, voice breaking slightly.
I couldn't stop my head shaking 'no', and the tears that fell down my face.
"Then why?" you whispered, moving closer to me and taking my hand in yours. "Why did you leave?" tears were pouring down your face too.
"Because . . . because we have no future," I said, turning away.
"What?" you asked.
"You could never be seen with me, you know that. A Death Eater's son? It'd be a disgrace," I whispered.
You spun me around to face you.
"But I don't care about any of that," you whispered, your green eyes shining with honesty. "I love you. I want to be with you," you said in utter sincerity.
I knew then that I couldn't change your mind by pretending not to love you. So I did what I had to do.
I took my wand out, and . . .
"Obliviate."
* * * * * * *
And nowadays everything is just like it's always been. Only I feel strangely empty without you.
You're still there, of course. But you can't remember it, any of it. I had permanently erased your love for me.
A few days ago, I overheard Granger questioning you in a deserted classroom. Questioning you about me, as a matter of fact.
She asked you if you, by any chance, used to fancy me, or were in love with me. She also told you that it wouldn't matter to her if you did, that she'd still be your friend.
You laughed at her face, as if it were all some big joke and said, "Malfoy? Me love him? That's a good one, Mione. I'm not gay, and I certainly don't love Malfoy of all people. All he provokes out of me is hate, no, no, wait . . . he doesn't even provoke the feeling of hate out of me. He's not worth me wasting my feelings on him."
And then you carried on laughing. Laughing and laughing and laughing.
And soon Granger was laughing too.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she choked through her laughter, "you and Malfoy? What was I thinking?"
I cried myself to sleep that night. Not because of what you said, although it stung, but because of what had been, and what could have been.
But can't be anymore, no. Can't be ever again.
So occasionally we knock into each other in the corridors, when we're both running late for Potions, and I extend my hand to help you up, and you give me that suspicious expression (there's no curiosity in it, just suspicion) you always have every time I do this, and, as always, you shove my hand away, get up by yourself, and continue getting to Potions.
So I guess that everything is still the same. Only it isn't. I will never forget how you felt towards me, and I will never forget my feelings for you because they're still there.
OK, so maybe everything isn't the same. No, I have decided, it isn't.
Everything has totally and completely changed.
Sometimes I feel bad for erasing your memory - it's playing with your thoughts and feelings - but then I remind myself that it'll be better for you in the long run. I mean, the wizarding world's saviour and a cold, unfeeling Death-Eater-to-be? Not the most perfect match in the world.
But no matter what happens, to me, to Hogwarts, to the world . . .
I will remember you.
The End.
Disclaimer: Sadly I don't own the characters. *sigh* They belong to JK Rowling - she can do with them what she pleases!
WARNINGS: SLASH. Mentions of . . . umm . . . stuff. Stuff that you're not supposed to know about until you're around ten. Or something like that.
~~~~~~~~ I Will Remember You ~~~~~~~~
I still remember that month.
And I will still remember it when I'm fifty-four years old, married to Pansy with two blonde kids, living in my own estate and a famous Quidditch player for England or whatever other job takes my fancy.
I will always remember it.
It started when we both knocked into each other.
For some weird unexplainable reason, I extended my hand to help you up. You gave me that suspicious/curious look that you always used to have whilst fighting with me, and slowly and cautiously reached out for my hand, and I pulled you up.
"What's up, Malfoy?" you asked, suspicion in your voice.
I shrugged nonchalantly.
"Nothing," I said.
"Then why did you help me up?" you asked.
"I dunno," I said, keeping conversation light. To tell you the truth, I had no idea why I'd done that. I still don't now.
"What, no rude comment? No sneer? Not even a smirk?" you asked.
"Don't you have any manners, Potter? If you did, you'd have been thanking me on bended knee for even touching something as lowly as you," I sneered. But now I know that that wasn't true. You weren't lowly, or filthy. You were completely innocent.
You laughed shortly. The laugh was short, but full of merriment. I had unconsciously thought that you sounded so happy when you laughed, and that you should laugh more. You didn't laugh much after that Diggory boy was killed.
"There's the Malfoy we all know and love to hate," you chuckled.
I quirked an eyebrow.
"What's up with you, Potter? Making pleasant conversation with me all of a sudden?" I asked.
He shrugged just as nonchalantly as I had before.
"'Nothing'", you said, mimicking me.
I scowled.
"Then piss of, Potter. I don't want to waste my precious time on filth like you," I said.
"Sorry, Malfoy, no can do. We've got Potions together," you said, perfectly calm. "Oh shit!" you suddenly exclaimed.
I quirked my eyebrow again.
"Now look, Potter, I'm sorry that you forgot your camera, but I wouldn't have had time for pictures on a Monday anyway," I drawled, letting you know how arrogant about my looks I was. I guess that you already knew. About my good looks, I mean.
"No, Potions - we're five minutes late! Snape's gonna eat me for lunch!" you said - what an adorably cute phrase. I still chuckle now thinking about it. I chuckled then as well.
"'Eat you for lunch'? Nobody's gonna 'eat you for lunch', Potter. Nobody short of Voldemort, that is," I said.
You frowned at the mention of Voldemort.
"You can say his name as well?" you asked me.
I nodded.
"Of course. Fear of a name only increases-"
"- fear of the thing itself," you finished for me. You then gave me a searching look. And as quick as lightning, your eyes skimmed up and down my body. Then, it made me feel uncomfortable.
Now, what I wouldn't give for you to look at me that way again, just once.
"We're late for Potions," I muttered uncomfortably.
"Oh, right, yeah, um . . . we should get going," you said quickly, a slight blush staining your cheeks. I remember thinking that you looked so adorably cute, then silently berating myself for having thoughts like these.
We both started to walk towards the Potions dungeon, and as you walked in (you were in front of me), for some weird reason, you held the door open for me.
I gave you a questioning look as I walked through it, and you blushed and quickly took your gaze away from me, and fixed it on the floor.
"Must you always be so damn late, Potter?" Snape snapped, sounding even more bad-tempered than usual. "Twenty five points off Gryffindor," he snarled, making you wince slightly. "And you, Malfoy? Ten points off Slytherin!" my own House Master snapped.
I think that my mouth actually dropped open. I don't think that I could remember any time that you had taken points off Slytherin. I was about to protest, but I guess I didn't have to. You beat me to it.
"It wasn't his fault, sir, I was the one who was talking to him," you said quickly.
Snape gave you such a scrutinizing look that I thought that you'd melt into a puddle on the floor under his gaze, right there and then.
Most of your housemates were eyeing you suspiciously, especially Weasley and Granger.
You quickly glanced at me, and our eyes met, and then you glanced away, blushing profusely.
Snape looked from me to you, then back again. I think that he realised it before even I did. And I'm supposed to be smart.
"I see," he said softly. "Malfoy and Potter, you will both serve detention with me this evening, the dungeons, seven o'clock sharp," he said calmly. "Don't be late," he hissed dangerously, before turning his back on us and going back to write whatever it was he was writing on the board.
You gave me an apologetic look, and sat down by Weasley and Granger.
I stayed standing up for a few seconds, before taking a seat behind you, next to Blaise Zabini. He started whispering to me on why Snape was suddenly so harsh on his own house. I simply shrugged.
Why do even my so-called 'friends' find it surprising that I am told off by Snape? Sure, I was a bit surprised myself at the beginning, but only because Snape would never take off points off his own house unless he was really pissed off. Not cause I'm his favourite or anything. Or his godson, like some people seem to believe.
Me and Snape are not related in any way, not by blood, nor by water.
I fixed my ears to listen to what Weasley and Granger were saying to you.
Weasley was going on and on about how you always let your Gryffindor nature show through, and instantly jumped to defend me, even though I was a Slytherin and a Malfoy.
But Granger was just sitting there, looking thoughtful. I think that she was starting to figure it out. I think that maybe you had let something slip to her about the way you felt about me, maybe. Maybe. I don't really know.
I think that you felt me watching you, because you turned around, and when you saw that it was me, you gave me a quick half-smile. And despite everything about our so-called feuds, I gave you a small smile back.
* * * * * * *
Looking back now, I think that that small smile I gave you really made your day. I had no idea, of course. But I did know that your half-smile really uplifted my spirits, for reasons then that I did not know.
Later that day, at exactly seven pm sharp, I was waiting outside the dungeons where we had our Potions lessons.
You, of course, were late, as per usual.
"Potter," I nodded, in way of greeting.
"Malfoy," you nodded back. "Is, uh, Snape here yet?" you asked, looking around nervously. Unluckily for you, you were standing right outside the door to the dungeons, and Snape had opened it without a sound, so when you looked back and saw him, you practically screamed in fear.
It was rather amusing, watching Snape's face slowly turn into a dark scowl as you started apologising. I wondered if you apologised for everything you did. A few days later I found out that you didn't, surprisingly.
He told us that we had to sort all the mandrake roots and shrivelfig leaves out into separate bottles. Only thing is, they looked almost exactly the same, and were all mixed together so it would have taken us ages to do it. Snape left us in there for three hours, with strict instructions not to use any magic.
The second he left the room, I whipped my wand out, ready to charm the ingredients to sort themselves out, but you stopped me. Your hand grasped my arm.
"Don't," you said quietly, "he might've cast a charm that detected if we used a spell or not around this area."
As much as I hated to admit it, you had a point.
After a few seconds of silence you noticed that your hand was still on my arm, and you took it away blushing. We then proceeded to sort out the ingredients. In complete silence. For twenty minutes.
And throughout those twenty minutes, I could feel you glancing at me every now and then. Sometimes I would like at you, finding that I liked seeing you blush. You always blushed when I caught you staring.
You never stare now. You just glare. And if I catch you, you start mouthing obscenities at me (though this happens rarely) or ignore me completely.
After those twenty minutes, I started getting . . . annoyed, bored . . . aroused? I can't really remember now. The little details aren't that important.
I slammed my mandrake roots down, accidentally mixing them with the pile of shrivelfig leaves that I had carefully made on one side of the table we were at. You looked at me in surprise, eyes wide.
"What the fuck is your problem, Potter?" I snarled.
"Problem? What do . . . what do you mean, Malfoy? The only problem I have is you!" you attempted to sneer, but you couldn't do it as well as I could.
"Then why d'you keep on staring at me? Just take a bloody picture, Potter, it lasts longer!" I snapped, going back to sorting out the ingredients.
"Hey, Malfoy, it's a free country! I can do whatever I want!" you tried to protest.
I gave you a withering look.
"If you think that I will let you continue to stare at me for the rest of the evening, you are completely-"
You cut me off then. That moment I will remember forever. Not with a sharp retort. Not with a curse. Not with a punch, even. But a kiss. You just grabbed the front of my robes, pulled me towards you and kissed me. Just like that. On the mouth.
I think that it was your first kiss. It was my first one, too, actually.
It was soft and gentle and sweet and loving and passionate all in one.
You pulled back and looked at me with green wide, worried eyes.
I eased your apprehension by giving you a soft smile.
And so you kissed me for the second time that night.
* * * * * * *
So that's how it started.
For the next few days we would steal kisses in between classes, and in the evenings meet up in the Astronomy Tower, sitting together and just talking. Finding out everything we could about each other.
I got mad at those muggles you lived with for treating you like a slave.
You got mad at my parents for completely ignoring me my entire life.
I gave you comfort.
You gave me attention.
I really enjoyed spending time with you. We saw each other almost every night for three weeks and five days. We only didn't meet up when you had Quidditch practice. I didn't have any practice, for I had quit the team last year.
You kept our relationship secret from your friends, although you suspected that Granger was starting to figure it out.
I kept our relationship quiet from the Slytherins - they would skin you and me both alive if they knew.
As each day passed, I started enjoying your company more and more. One could say that I, Draco Adrian Malfoy . . . was in love.
And so, after three weeks and six days of secretly dating, we bound our essences together in one single act . . . we made love.
I was gentle with you, partly because I didn't know what I was doing, and partly because I didn't want to hurt you. That had to have been the best night of my life.
But after we had both come down from our climax, you told me those words. Those three little words. Those three little words that changed everything.
~ "I love you, Draco." ~
I said them back, of course. And I meant them. More than you can ever know.
~ "I love you too, Harry." ~
But I think that you had fallen asleep.
I stayed awake all night, thinking.
Thinking, thinking, thinking about if we had a future together.
And I came to a conclusion: we didn't.
Without me, you'd have a great chance of playing for any Quidditch team you wanted, or becoming an Auror, or a number of different jobs - all equally good.
But if you were with me . . . the wizarding world would not bode well with the fact that the Boy Who Lived was dating a Death Eater's son. They would exclude you from everything. They would make your life a living hell.
And me? I'd go to hell and back if I could just be with you. But that wasn't possible. Your happiness was all that mattered to me.
And so I left you in my own common room. You were to wake and find me gone, to think that I had used you. Hopefully that would be enough.
Enough to delay your feelings for me, that is.
* * * * * * *
All day that day (it was a Saturday, I recall), I spent walking around Hogwarts, thinking about how I could stop you from loving me.
It would be hell for me, but I knew that it would be the best for you.
I tried to avoid you, but to no avail.
You cornered me in the empty History of Magic classroom.
"What the hell was all that about?" you yelled. "You, leaving me in the morning? Do you know how scared I felt when I woke up with you gone?"
It made me feel bad. Really bad. But I pretended not to care.
"Oh, so you just don't care, is that it? You suddenly decided that you don't love me anymore?" you asked, your eyes filling with tears. My eyes were tearing up as well, but I couldn't let you see that. "I heard what you said last night, Draco Malfoy, and I just don't understand why you left me! You were just using me, weren't you?" you accused me, voice breaking slightly.
I couldn't stop my head shaking 'no', and the tears that fell down my face.
"Then why?" you whispered, moving closer to me and taking my hand in yours. "Why did you leave?" tears were pouring down your face too.
"Because . . . because we have no future," I said, turning away.
"What?" you asked.
"You could never be seen with me, you know that. A Death Eater's son? It'd be a disgrace," I whispered.
You spun me around to face you.
"But I don't care about any of that," you whispered, your green eyes shining with honesty. "I love you. I want to be with you," you said in utter sincerity.
I knew then that I couldn't change your mind by pretending not to love you. So I did what I had to do.
I took my wand out, and . . .
"Obliviate."
* * * * * * *
And nowadays everything is just like it's always been. Only I feel strangely empty without you.
You're still there, of course. But you can't remember it, any of it. I had permanently erased your love for me.
A few days ago, I overheard Granger questioning you in a deserted classroom. Questioning you about me, as a matter of fact.
She asked you if you, by any chance, used to fancy me, or were in love with me. She also told you that it wouldn't matter to her if you did, that she'd still be your friend.
You laughed at her face, as if it were all some big joke and said, "Malfoy? Me love him? That's a good one, Mione. I'm not gay, and I certainly don't love Malfoy of all people. All he provokes out of me is hate, no, no, wait . . . he doesn't even provoke the feeling of hate out of me. He's not worth me wasting my feelings on him."
And then you carried on laughing. Laughing and laughing and laughing.
And soon Granger was laughing too.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she choked through her laughter, "you and Malfoy? What was I thinking?"
I cried myself to sleep that night. Not because of what you said, although it stung, but because of what had been, and what could have been.
But can't be anymore, no. Can't be ever again.
So occasionally we knock into each other in the corridors, when we're both running late for Potions, and I extend my hand to help you up, and you give me that suspicious expression (there's no curiosity in it, just suspicion) you always have every time I do this, and, as always, you shove my hand away, get up by yourself, and continue getting to Potions.
So I guess that everything is still the same. Only it isn't. I will never forget how you felt towards me, and I will never forget my feelings for you because they're still there.
OK, so maybe everything isn't the same. No, I have decided, it isn't.
Everything has totally and completely changed.
Sometimes I feel bad for erasing your memory - it's playing with your thoughts and feelings - but then I remind myself that it'll be better for you in the long run. I mean, the wizarding world's saviour and a cold, unfeeling Death-Eater-to-be? Not the most perfect match in the world.
But no matter what happens, to me, to Hogwarts, to the world . . .
I will remember you.
The End.