General Disclaimer: Intellectual property and characters belonging to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastic Inc., Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, are used in this fan-made fiction. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied. No profit is being made from this work.
The dream always starts the same way. I'd see her and she's almost crying. I know now why. She was trying her best not to cry so that she could still talk to me. Talk me into it. I must have broken her heart and yet there she was, being the stronger and smarter one. Just like she always was.
It's not clear, the dream. It's exactly what a memory feels like when viewed through a Pensive. Blurred, surreal. Or too bright, sometimes. It's like an out-of-body experience. I see her and I see me. And we're standing in front of the gates to the Great Hall. She looks pretty in her dress. Her graduation dress.
She looks so pretty and I'd give anything to wake up. I don't want to see it. I don't want to see her. I don't want to see me break her. Over and over. Again.
Please. Please stop killing me.
Sometimes the dream goes by so fast that I have to relive this memory many times in rapid succession. It never gets past the point of those giant gates opening. And sometimes it feels like I have total control over the dream. I can focus on various things, as if on slow motion. I see her hair and how it's growing since that time she cut it. I'd see her hands clench in her anger and frustration. And then sometimes I'd just watch her face, everything going by so slowly that one second feels like a lifetime.
How was this possible? I've trapped my mind into this dream, this memory. They're one and the same. In my waking hours this memory fills my thoughts. But then I'd have my reality poking in through the cracks and shaking me, taking me back to where my mind should be. But at night when I sleep, there she is. Again.
If I'd known she'd follow me around, would I have done differently? I can't honestly answer that. I don't know. She... She confuses me. She does that a lot, really. Looking at the two of us I wonder when she'd finally let me go. When I'd finally let myself let her go. Looking at the two of us I wish this memory would go away. Pushed to the back of my mind. Never to resurface again.
Looking at the two of us I know even in my dream I'm lying. Looking at us I know it's not possible. Looking at her I know I never want her to fade. Be gone. Move on. Without me.
Please. Please don't go.
And then the dream comes to life. And I hear her voice. It's the only clear thing in the entire dream. I used to really hate having her voice stuck in my head. But now it's like a song I never liked but heard enough times that it's grown into a soft murmur, continuously playing in my mind, my own private hell. Sometimes I close my eyes and I hear her, and she keeps me here. She keeps me grounded. But I'd give anything to have another song playing.
Please. Please not these words.
You'll never let me love you, won't you? You'd... you'd never let anyone. Why can't you let anyone get close enough to try?
Watching the dream I get close enough to crying. Doesn't she see? I did let her. I am letting her. She got so close. Too close. And she's the only one.
Watching the dream I know during the time when this moment was happening, I thought if anyone could have me it would be her. She'd have me. Mind and body. And my soul, too, if I had one. Before walking towards those doors I thought about telling her. Reaching out to her and finally giving her the answer she has been waiting for. She'd been so patient and I was too indecisive.
I thought I'd tell her maybe I feel the same. Maybe we can try? Maybe I think it's real now? Maybe I can do it?
With you, surely. Surely, with you.
And then I was gripped with such a fear that my breathing stopped and I lost control of my senses. I couldn't move. There was nothing but fear and I was too weak to fight it. Too weak to see past it and see her instead. I saw it unraveling though I never gave it a chance. I understood the kind of power she'd have over me. It was tremendous, incredible, unbelievably astounding. I was about to hand my heart out for her to hold. She could have crushed it.
She wouldn't have. But all I saw was that I was giving her the potential, the capacity to do it. A person is only ever truly powerful if he is aware of his power, if he is capable of using his power and, most importantly, if he has the willingness to yield it. She would have known the kind of power I would have given her. She's too intelligent not to. But she wouldn't have used it against me. I was a fool.
Please. Please never let me forget it.
I'm sorry. I said it and finally she cries. She looks down, her shoulders shaking, but I see the tears first. With her hands on her face I know I should do something. Move, comfort her, hold her tight. At least look away. But I'm transfixed. I can move again but I don't. I have to see her hurt. I have to know what I've done. I have to see her body shaking with agony. Her pain will drown my fear. Maybe. It should work. It will. Won't it?
I'm sorry. I say it. My voice is calm, even and brutal, and I say it. I'm sorry. Those aren't hard words to say at all. It's easier to repeat those words than offer any real explanation. I don't know what it's like to ever be loved. It scares me. It scares me more than anything. Especially because it's you. You... You who doesn't even have a reason to not continue disliking me. Whatever you're seeing in me, it might just be you trying to see the best in everyone. So I'm afraid. Afraid that one day you'll realise you don't see anything good at all, and that you deserve better than me and leave, like you ought to. I'm scared, Hermione. It scares me to think that I'll only ever be happy with you. There's just one thing, one person, in the whole world that holds my happiness! So I know it's stupid and you probably think I have half a brain for saying this but I think I'd rather be miserable and alone than take a chance at a happiness, that will most probably be as eternal as smoke from a freshly brewed potion, with you.
No. Sorry isn't hard to say at all. So I say it. Over and over. Again.
She looks at me. She's wiped most of the tears from her face. But her cheeks are damp and she can't fool me. She steps close. So close. Too close. Watching the two of us she smiles and she couldn't have made more damage with any other action. She smiles and I know it's exactly the opposite of how I'm making her feel.
I wonder, does she see this dream, too? Even for just half the time compared to me? Does she see the two of us? Does she see me? I hope she hates me. I deserve it.
Please. Please look at me and hate me.
There she is, so close to me, and it stops feeling out-of-body. I see her the way I saw her that time. In front of me. So close to me. Too close to me. She touches my shoulder and uses that to hoist herself up. She must be on tiptoes. Her face is so close now. Her lips touch mine for the shortest possible time and before she goes her lips part.
Goodbye, Draco.
The dream always ends the same way. Everything's still blurred now. But it's so bright as well. The gates open and there comes too much light. Light. I was never fond of light. She wipes another hand on her face and she walks away. With her tears on my lips I watch her walk away.
I wake up and it's dark again. I'm in my room, I know. I taste something salty in my lips and, like every other time after waking up from the memory, I think it's hers. She must be near me. She must have cried again. I look around and I don't see her. Drawing a hand up near my face, I brush it against my eyes.
Tears. I was crying. I must have been crying in my sleep. Over and over. Again.
And why shouldn't I be? Because isn't it the saddest thing, falling in love with someone who used to love you?
The title comes from one of Woodrow Wilson's quotations. I don't quite know what to do with this story, for now. I think it can stand as a one-shot but I think I'll write following chapters. I'll just leave it as an In-progress for safe measure. Thank you for reading. Comments, if any, will be more than welcomed. -Cine