Draco Malfoy...
The book was heavy in his hands. The brown leather binding was torn and the cream pages waterlogged, but it was still the most pricelessly wonderful- though mournfully horrible -thing he could possibly possess.
He held it against his chest; his white-blonde head bowed over it, unsure whether the words inside would grant him relief or cause him further pain- and Merlin knew the latter would only kill him. He was a defeated, broken man, deprived and bare of everything and anything he had once held dear- and the worst part about the little burden of a book would be the memories that would come back. He had made himself forget everything about his past. He did not need magic to cast away thoughts of his own life; grief had allotted that for him. He could not even conjure her face in his mind's eye anymore. Even though it seemed easier, and the hurt was numbed, the loss of being able to remember her was somehow worse than not having her.
It had been seven years since they first met. Though he did not believe in fate, he sometimes dared to wonder if they had been destined to meet only to bring about each other's demise. It seemed fitting in an ironic way: the unhappy, spoiled boy who had everything falling in love with the happy, free girl who had nothing.
He knew he was horrible, and he knew that he had always been so selfish and undeserving of her. It was no different now, even after all that had happened. He told himself that if he could turn back time and choose never to meet her in order to save her, he would, but another part of him, a large part, would be massively reluctant; thinking only of his need and desire to know her.
He thought of her constantly, though he could not even remember her. It seemed impossible but the guilt, pain, and loss ate at his body, mind, and soul nonstop. He did not bother to care, but he had become a mere shadow of himself- a revenant, a ghost. He was washed of all color now that she was gone.
Nevertheless, there she was- her own memories, her own thoughts, and her own dreams and interpretations- right there in writing, in his own hands. It would be all too easy to open the book, and read her existence right back into his life. His heart needed it but his brain would not accept it.
However, he had always been weak-minded, and had always worn his emotions on his sleeve. It did not matter whether he was experiencing jealousy, desperation, or love, no matter what, his head was never able to defeat his heart.
His pale grey eyes squeezed shut in dread and anticipation. He put the brown book to his trembling lips, whispered something slowly and softly to the name stitched in silver lettering on the diary's cover, and then he opened to the first page, and began to read her thoughts, for the last time.
Rachel Wesson…