Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: Greetings, earthlings! Well, this is my first fanfic so I'm pretty nervous. Reviews would make me extremely happy. Constructive criticism would also be appreciated. Enjoy!
"But move on, we shall."
Draco stood there, under the pouring rain, with a blank face that would give away nothing to the pain he now felt.
He visited her grave every Saturday at midnight. He would never forget and he would never miss it, no matter how busy or tired he was. He'll be there. He'll always be there.
He would never grow tired of her. He'd dream of her, whisper her name, think about her and love her with all his heart and with all his being. 'Till death do us part.
He brought her flowers, the usual, white daisies. Those were her favorite. She never told him but he knew. He'd watch her by the window of the Manor. How she'd have her morning walks in the garden then she'd stop by the daisies. She'd pick the white one up, bring it close to her face, close her eyes and breathe in its scent. Then Draco would think she was never as beautiful as she was right there.
She'd return to the manor with the flower in hand and she'd sit next to Draco, who would play the piano every morning. She'd sit there and Draco would feel her warmth and he could smell not only her, sweet lilac with a touch of vanilla, but also her daisy. She'd rest her head on his shoulder and Draco could now feel the warmth all over his body. He would be engulfed in her sweet lilac smell and he'd love every second of it.
"Play our song," She'd say in a whisper, as if it were a secret she didn't anyone else to hear. As if it were their secret.
"Anything for you, love." He'd say in the same tone, his voice filled with so much love and adoration that it would make her smile that smile of hers.
He remembered every single thing about her. He memorized her face just like he memorized his old Potions lessons. Her laugh echoed throughout his head, it kept playing, it never stopped. It was his favorite melody. Sometimes, he'd sleep while clutching her dress just so he can inhale her scent as he cried himself to sleep, so he can fool himself into believing that she was right there, right next to him.
Maybe, just maybe, if he remembered her hard enough, if he remembered every angle, every color, every scent, every sound, and every smile, she'd come back to him. If he tried harder, maybe she'd be back in his arms, whispering his name again.
She never came back.
She'd only visit him in his dreams. He was able to hold her again in his arms, to feel her soft skin against his. Her scent pervaded the air, sweet lilac with a touch of vanilla. He'd bury his face in her dark hair and she'd let out a small laugh. She fit perfectly in his arms and his head fit perfectly at the crook of her neck. Her fingers interlaced with his, his lips against her soft ones. Her melodious laugh filled the air, it was melody to his ears. Their heart beat as one. She was his and he was hers. They were perfect. Everything was perfect.
Until he wakes up, that is.
He'd squint at the moonlight and he'd feel tears in his eyes. He doesn't even bother to wipe them away. What was the point? He'd continue crying, his sobs getting louder and stronger. His shoulders shook and his chest heaved. Her laugh no longer filled the air, it was his cries now. They sounded so mad, so angry but at the same time, they sounded so desperate and so broken.
He'd continue to cry until the sun would rise. Then he would get up, wash his face and put on his mask, the façade nobody could break through.
He'd wait until Saturday midnight until he could finally fall on his knees and cry and tell her, to shout to the skies, "I need you! Why did you leave me? You promised you wouldn't! I can't do this without you. I'm falling apart without you. I can't go on another day without you!"
But another day he'd have to endure.
Sometimes, he would stare out the window and he'd see her face, staring at him with her lovely, blue eyes and he'd stare right back with his sad, grey eyes. Then in a soft whisper, he'd say, "I love you."
One night, he couldn't take the loneliness so he walked around the garden, trying to take his mind off all the pain. He found himself by the daisies and his heart sank. He bent down, picked up the white daisy and held it close to his face. He inhaled its scent and he felt tears sting his eyes. He sat on the ground and held the flower close to his heart. He never understood why she loved those flowers so much. Daisies were plain, they were too boring for his liking. But now he knew. They symbolized innocence, pureness and simplicity. Three things she never experience or felt in her whole life. Her life was stained with loneliness and she was surrounded by extravagance that meant absolutely nothing to her. Even at a young age, she was exposed to violence, anger, evil and pain. Maybe that's why she and Draco felt a connection. They knew how it felt, they need not to explain to one another what it was like. They just know.
Draco went to bed with the flower in hand, holding it as if his life depended on it.
"Draco, it wouldn't hurt if you started seeing other-" His mother began one morning during breakfast. Draco stood up with an angry gleam in his eyes.
"No, I'm fine. I can't stand doing such a thing to her." He closed his eyes. "I could never."
"Draco, dear, you wouldn't break her heart. Wherever she may be right now, I know she would like the same for you. She'd want you to move on, to love again." His mom said quietly, her voice filled with concern for her only son.
"I can never love again." He whispered then walked away.
How could he? He found the love of his life and unfortunately, he lost her too. He can never love anyone as much as he loved her. He can never, he could never. It was impossible. It was absurd to even think so! In every face he looked at, he saw only her. Every sound, every melody, they all reminded him of her. Moving on would mean forgetting, he could never forget the love his life.
He stood there, under the pouring rain, with a blank face that would give away nothing to the pain he now felt.
Because Draco Malfoy refused to move on. Draco Malfoy loved Pansy Parkinson too much. His dreams, his thoughts, his words, they were all about her. His life was all about her.
But he was so damn lonely, he was so damn angry. He wanted to smile but it felt wrong. He wanted to be happy but it felt wrong. He couldn't be happy without her. It was wrong.
But why was it wrong? Wouldn't Pansy want you to be happy? A little voice in his head whispered. It angered him. How dare he even think about such a thing! It was wrong because it was…because it was wrong! He forced himself to believe in it but his body rejected his lie. He fed his body too much lies, it couldn't take any more.
"I don't want to move because I love you. I don't want to move on because it would mean forgetting you and I would never do such a thing." He said out loud. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks now but it was hidden by the rain, disguising it as a raindrop rolling down his pale cheek.
"Moving on does not mean forgetting." Draco whipped around to see a short figure with a big head standing behind him. The figure walked towards him and he realized it wasn't a big head, it was big hair. And it was a girl.
And-merlin's beard-it was Hermione Granger.
"I know it's hard to move on. Impossible, even," she gave a weak laugh. "But, move on, we shall, right?"
"That wasn't very encouraging." Draco mumbled, slightly angry that his visit with his wife was interrupted.
Hermione shrugged apologetically. "I was never good with encouragements. In fact, I'm the worst person to tell you to move on. I, myself, can't find it in me to move on." The last sentence came out as a painful whisper, as if saying it was the hardest thing to do.
Hermione closed her eyes and Draco continued to watch her. She was such an odd person. Suddenly making an appearance in his life again in a cemetery at midnight. It sounded like a scary story told to children. It even sounded like a joke. So this girl walks into a cemetery…
He was about to ask what the hell was she talking about and why the hell was she here at midnight but then it hit him. Her parents were killed in the war. His heart felt sympathy for the bushy-haired girl. One death was hard enough to deal with, two was just impossible. But she was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor extraordinaire known for her bravery and, of course, her intelligence.
"But move on, we shall." Hermione murmured so quietly, Draco almost didn't hear it. It sounded like a mantra, as if Hermione was forcing herself to believe in it, herself. But move on, we shall.
Draco repeated it in his head. It didn't sound very encouraging but it's all he's got. He might as well give it a try.
"Yes," Draco spoke quietly, a hint of fear and determination in his voice. Hermione looked up, her brown eyes pooling with tears. She looked so vulnerable and scared, just like a lost kid. "Move on, we shall."
Maybe Draco Malfoy could still move on. He knows he can. And maybe, just maybe, Hermione Granger could be the one to help him.