Photographs, the Past, and Little Cottages by the Sea
10 years later...
Stepping into the ivy-covered cottage I took it all in. The books, tables, cupboards, everything was covered in a fine sheen of dust. After avoiding the place for ten years it wasn't exactly suprising, but besides the grime every object was just as I remembered it to be. I saw the broken glass by the fireplace, a reminder of our last fight, and the last time I saw her before we parted ways.
A musky smell wafted around in the air, and I felt the need to sneeze as a splattering of dust fluttered before me. The sunlight streaming through the windows was dimmed by a layer of something that was a peculiar green-brown color. Wrinkling my nose I flicked my wand at the large windows and the sun shined past the overgrown ivy and shed light into the dark living room.
Turning away, I saw the few burn marks in the curtain where hexes had been thrown and I winced again at the memory of that one night. I strode over toward the other side of the room and cleared the grime from the other window as the glass cleared up. The sun was bright as it fell onto my face, but it did nothing to my mood and I turned away from it as if the light burned my skin.
Slowly, I strode around the room. Each stride reminded me of those years, my years as a Slytherin, my last year at Hogwarts. By then my innocence had already fled, although still arrogant, the Dark Side had tainted me in ways even my best of friends had yet to realize at the time.
Father's allegiance to the Dark Lord only placed me between a Gringott's goblin who has caught you stealing and an enraged Norwegian Ridgeback. Not a pleasant position indeed. At the time the dark mark had not burned across my skin, searing into my being. I was still Draco, Draco Malfoy. Not Draco Malfoy the Death Eater, whose wand has killed more families than his father's.
Even back then I was still proud. Too proud to apologize and too impatient to bother explain. No, she always had to take the first steps to amends. And when she got sick of it, couldn't handle my pride, I couldn't suck it up and beg for her to come back. When my friends asked about her, it was a mere "I don't need her, I'm a Malfoy. Malfoys dump women, women don't dump Malfoys." I particularly remember Blaise's reaction to that.
And now, as my fingers danced across dusty frames, I saw us. Our smiling faces peering at me from the pictures. We were happy at the time. Joy was written all over our faces, a pleasure of sorts, a love of sorts. The image that particularly caught my eye was taken the last time we were happily together. The last time we didn't have my future and her future looming at us, taunting our conscience. Our eyes sparkled in merriment as silent laughter split our faces. Those were the good days, the carefree days, the happy days. Those were the days…
Fatigued, I quietly walked upstairs, creaking my way up as the old staircase heaved with my long forgotten weight. Opening the door I muttered a quick cleaning spell and the bathroom was shining as if it was brand new. Quickly shedding my clothes I left a heap in the corner of the bathroom as I quickly turned the water on for the tub.
A steady splashing sound filled my ears as I turned away and looked into the mirror. The person before me was unfamiliar, fatigued, not anyone I would have recognized. Staring at my image, I sighed, that slight facial movement the only thing proving that the face looking back at me from the mirror was actually myself.
Closing my eyes I saw the memories flash, like a Muggle projector, through my closed eyelids. With a long sigh I let myself do something that I promised I wouldn't. I succumbed to the memories. I let myself be taken back, taken back to my seventh year. When the war had just began, when I still had not been familiar with the sting of the dark mark on my arm, and most importantly, when we were still together, happily in love.