AN: Originally for a challenge on fictionNET… I kept writing, not because of the challenge, but because I found myself actually falling in love with the story. I won't give too much else away—but it did end up being 3 times longer than I usually prefer one-shots. Please read. I promise you that it is worth it.
Crocodile Tears and Teatime Affairs
I watched from somewhere in that deep cloudy mind of mine as the life ran out from my fingers. It pulled out in wisps of white and purple and ethereal colors that made me spin with wonderment. It was the wildest feeling I've ever encountered in my life, and funny it should be my last as well. People around me cried and sobbed. I briefly wondered about where I was going. Yes, I did believe death was the greatest adventure of all. Was this the end? Or was it only the beginning? Blurred images flashed pass me. This life had been too good to me. I guess that I always had expected to die young. But then I put off those thoughts and imagined growing old with my soul mate and possibly living for an eternity until dying at the ripe, old age of six hundred. This life was too good. And, now? Now I desperately wished I could have fulfilled more.
Heavy breathing, ragged breathing, gasps of air escaping from our mouths. I grabbed Ginny's wrists tightly and threw her against the stone wall. Her cry was amazingly satisfying. There were half-formed words and grunts, until I finally ripped all of our clothes free and stepped back to observe.
"D... Draco, please," she whispered, eyes shining in the flickering firelight.
"Say it." I muttered through gritted teeth. "Just. Say. It."
"I can't, Draco, not like this," she sobbed, bending down in an attempt to save what was left of her dignity.
"Haphadornikto," I muttered. Instantly she was set up straight and not fighting to cover herself. "Do you see us, Ginny? Do you see what we are? We are two human beings, no better than Adam and Eve. You think it matters, do you think any words are sacred at this instant? Say it, damn it, just say the fucking words!"
Ginny whimpered sadly, tears starting to drip down her cheeks. "I cannot, I cannot, I don't bloody care that nothing is sacred here. I don't care, I can't lie to you, Draco and you know it. You know it fucking tears my heart apart, but you know I can't. You know it!" Her shouts resonated in the darkened chamber. Nothing was inside of me, I was empty and numb and I couldn't think straight.
"Gin.." I said hoarsely, advancing on her. "Say the words."
"N-n-no," she sobbed, trying to pull herself together.
"Pathetic human being. That is exactly what you are. Can't even better yourself," I said before pressing her naked form against me. I could tell she liked it, but didn't want to admit it. Her face flushed as I ground my hips into her.
"This is not love. This is not." She bit out the words painfully, as I grabbed hold of her shoulders and threw her down onto the ground.
All that was left of that night were moans and hisses and all the unholy words in the world.
"God… fucking yes… yes, Draco, please… good sweet mother…"
"They say he's going to die any minute, 'Mione," Ron whispered outside the hospital door with a grim but accepting face.
"I just don't understand it," Hermione croaked back. "He's so young, Ron; we're just too young to end everything now…"
"It's… Hermione, stop crying. He was a prat and sure you loved him, but did he ever change? No. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. And now he's dying and it doesn't erase everything that he has done."
Hermione looked up with her red, puffy eyes only to see Ron's retreating figure run down the hall. "Ron… I'm sorry…" But the words were too late and too softly spoken. They departed her chapped lips and fell softly and silently to the ground. Within minutes they were trampled on by the feet of paramedi-Wizards and the like.
It was midnight, and the clocks at Hogwarts all chimed in a musical symphony of notes. Draco's black cloak whipped around in the wind as he descended toward the lake. I watched from a distance, behind the lake (of course), and underneath a large tree. The man was painstakingly beautiful, especially with the moonlight reflecting off of his face. I never really understood how or why some people had such prominent cheekbones while the rest of us were left wanting. I shivered, bringing the cloak closer to my body.
He was terribly near now, the wind tossing his loose blond locks sexily across his face. I wanted him so badly, but I couldn't voice it.
"Potter," a voice cut through the wind snidely. Before I knew it, he had grabbed my shoulders roughly and came down upon my mouth like a Dementor on his next victim. In reply, I melted into his soft lips, pulling our robes together so I could hold our hot bodies closer to each other. His hands didn't leave the tops of my shoulders as he commandingly pulled away. "Every time and it still amazes me. How can we be so opposite? How can we hate each other?"
"Draco," I bit my lip in uncertainty, "I need to tell you something."
"Save it," he harshly barked before wrapping his arms around my waist and pulled me into another heated kiss. I can say that only candidly that I jumped when his arms reached around and squeezed my rear.
"Draco, I love you," I breathed. There was silence in reply, and for moments I pondered if the words had been carried off in the strong winds, floating heavenward.
Minutes later, after staring me in the eyes, he hardened and painfully emitted a few words, "You shouldn't have said that."
It was then, underneath the moonlight, that he took advantage of his body's reaction. Underneath that withered, old tree was where we first explored each other's bodies. Beneath the hiding folds of our large robes held up by spells Draco had learned from his father.
I still can't believe anything that has happened. He was my enemy. Years later, as I sit in bed after making love with my loving wife Luna, I wonder if I've made the right choice. It's midnight now, and Draco is dying in his hospital bed.
Is she as good as me? Is the freak better in bed than I was? I sit up quickly, panting and looking around. Luna grunts and turns over in her sleep. The shadows on the wall stir, and I glance out the window. The wind has begun to howl past our house. Silently, I pad over to the bathroom. Harry Potter, what have you become? I reached into the cabinet drawer, pulling out a treasured, silky green scarf. It smelt of spice and sex. I ran my hands down it, bringing it up to my cheek to feel its soft fabric upon my face. And, quickly, I silently glided over to the balcony, opening the doors and quietly shutting myself out. The wind whipped around me as I untied my drawstring pajama pants. It only fed into my desire as I wrapped the scarf around me, full of Draco's essence, and began the low, sad task of satisfying myself.
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" the crowd of students cheered as they encircled the six students.
"Ron, it's not worth it!" Hermione tugged on his shoulder. "Please, Ron! We love each other and that's all that matters!"
"That fucking git got you pregnant, Hermione! We haven't even graduated, and your life is ruined now!" Ron shouted angrily, violently slipping from her touch as if it had burned him. "You can't just bloody sleep with our worst enemy and then everything is okay again!"
On the other side of the fight, Pansy and Blaise tried to calm Draco down. "Draco, it's not worth it and you know it. Weaselface is beneath us, Drake," they begged. "Don't fight him, you'll get kicked out and your father isn't here to help us anymore."
I watched from the crowd as it happened. My quick-tempered brother leapt away from his friends and attacked Draco, clawing and punching at him. Instantly, Pansy and Blaise slipped away into the crowd. They were cowardly and unable to be connected to this fight. They had been in too many themselves.
Harry had just been telling Hermione to trust him, and that Draco did not love her. Hermione didn't need to trust Harry; Harry didn't know what Draco and I do at night. Of course, I don't claim to love Draco Malfoy. We lust together, for long nights and sometimes mid-afternoon snacks.
It was quite amusing, Harry claiming that Draco is asexual and unable to get a real girl. I remember the day we discussed it. There were rumors going around the Draco had slept with a second year, even though he was a seventh year and about to graduate. Well, he had, and with me there of course. It was quite nice for a change, but that's not the point. The rumors had begun spinning, and we were all sitting in the Gryffindor Common room discussing it. Hermione blushed and said it was a wretched thing and even Draco Malfoy wouldn't stoop so low to do it. Hermione Granger has her head in the clouds, quite unlike her. I've always liked Hermione, but she began to loose it early seventh-year. I suppose that's when she went out with Draco secretly, but I don't know anything about that. Harry claimed Draco couldn't bag himself anything, he was unable to be sexually aroused and even the thought of him having sex was disturbing. Ron just cringed and went on inarticulately for several minutes about how "he better not've had sex with a second year!"
With all this, Harry argued with Hermione. Hermione argued with Ron. Ron argued with Harry and Hermione. The spectacle was amazing; I've never seen anything quite like it. They've always been the best of friends. I suppose it had to crumble down. But over Draco Malfoy and Hermione's love affair? I never would have expected it.
"Ronald Weasley! You disappoint me! Harry Potter! You too! Of course, he loves me! He always will and it doesn't matter what House he is from or anything like that!" Hermione howled in a high-pitched voice before running off hysterically.
Harry sat there slack-jawed, before watching Draco and Ron go at it on the stone floors. The crowd had begun to disperse, the bloodied up boys weren't the best thing to watch. When no one was left watching but Harry, the boys tired and called a truce. Draco got up and dusted off this robes, his eyes connecting with Harry.
"What have you done?" Harry spat at Draco.
"To Hermione? Or to you… and your little friend here?" Draco snarled.
Personally, I think I looked wretched in my heavy, poofed out white wedding dress. Nothing like the tales I'd dreamt of, where I'd be the glowing, thin bride with tamed hair and beautiful skin… Of course, I'd also not thought I'd be marrying Draco Malfoy. Or having his baby, and simply marrying out of wedlock.
The little bride's room was stuffy and everything was in that faded creamy white and beige color. Ginny was there, she was my maid of honor, in a very pretty lavender dress that complimented her red hair and pale skin. I tried to be the good bride and not pick sickly dresses and I think I chose very well. The little poofy arms really brought out a softer side to Ginny, who had hardened horrifically over the years. She never dated anyone besides those few from fourth year, and when I tried to set her up with Harry she winced and told me that "it was a long time ago, Hermione," and that she was "not some wooing second year anymore."
"Hermione, I'm gonna zip you up now," she muttered in that cool voice of hers. She always sounded so adult, so much more mature than I was.
"Go ahead." I said after a long pause.
"Hermione?" She said, taking a step back and coming in front of me. "Darling," she said looking as beautiful as ever, "don't have a fit, but… you're going to need to take one deep breath in when I count to three…"
"Don't have a fit! Ginny! This is my wedding day! I want to look absolutely perfect! Even statistics show that brides that look good on their wedding day live happier, and more fulfilling lives!"
"One… two…" I breathed in and felt as if I was about to explode. I heard Ginny mumble and zip the rest up effortlessly. I knew she had said a spell to loosen the dress a bit, but it was my wedding day so I chose to forget it.
"Hermione, my dearest love," a call came through the door.
Squealing, I threw on a silky robe over my dress, "Draco, you know it's bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding!"
"I'll close my eyes, my God, woman," he snapped, before opening the door. Draco's eyes were closed, and he looked absolutely handsome in his tuxedo. He started moving towards Ginny, eyes shut, and when he got hold on her beautiful arm sleeve, he quickly spun in the other direction before stumbling on a table.
"Hermione?" he mock yelled. Walking up to him, I hugged him from behind, as hard as it was—my belly was swollen in its seventh month—and he spun around. He kissed the top of my forehead, with his impeccable sixth sense. "I can't believe the day has finally come!"
"Me neither," I said. He backed away towards the door, reaching blindly for the handle.
"I love you, Draco," I sighed, and he smirked back at me before disappearing.
Ginny huffed, shut the door, and gave me a stony glare. "Hermione, sorry to ruin the moment, but I need to fix your hair and get you into these shoes."
Outside, the organ started up, causing a jerk in my stomach. Panic, pure panic, but I quelled the feeling and slipped into the shoes Ginny had sat out. She looked positively angry now, going to swing open the door. A voice cut her off, and Ron entered my bride's room.
"Ron shouldn't you be outs—" Why did he look at me like that? "R-Ron?"
"Hermione, it's nothing. I just wanted to give you this note." Sighing, I grabbed the little torn piece of parchment from him. Relief, came to my mind.
And then everything changed.
"Hermione, please… Please forgive me. DM"
After Hermione was left alone at the altar, things changed so quickly. We all were growing up so fast. I never wanted anything to turn out this way. When I first heard of Draco and Hermione, my heart was ripped out and bleeding. Then she stomped on it, and shoved it back in my chest. I thought it was all over, but then he left her again at the altar. My heart broke and shattered onto the floor. I can't retrieve it. I told her he would never love her. No one believes me because I have such a quick, hot temper. I can't help it.
Hermione gave birth a month later, to a baby girl named Adelphine. She looks exactly like Hermione, with long curly brown locks just a shade lighter than her mother's. Her skin is paler, of course. When Hermione had to go to Medi-Wizarding school, I stayed up each night and left early from my job at the Ministry. I went to Hermione's small apartment in Muggle London and I watched over Adi. I can't believe Hermione made this creature. Kinda makes me feel awkward. How did this happen so fast?
On Sunday mornings, when the sun shines softly through the windows, Hermione plays with Adi… It's as if I can see them through a filtered camera lens and everything is soft and warm. They are beautiful.
Next, though, was Harry's unexpected wedding. He went to the Wizard Court and had Luna Lovegood and himself legally wed. I can't figure out why, but I think that they still believe they love each other. Harry will always be unhappy; he was the Boy That Lived. And technically he still is, but I'm not entirely sure. How can you tell if your friend is rotting or living? I see something behind his eyes, he misses someone, and I only wish I knew who.
The world just keeps turning, doesn't it? I remember when I first had to face growing up without fighting my way through it. Hermione had flooed me and begged me to do it.
I went over to a new wizard bar in Diagon Alley, which is still crawling with students nowadays, and sat down with Harry and Hermione. Hermione tried to talk some sense into me, but I still don't feel like elaborating on her words. Hermione didn't have such good sense three years ago, did she? When she decided to even think of starting a relationship with Draco Malfoy, yes, I think that's when she lost all credibility in my book. The thought disgusts me.
Well, anyway, Malfoy came and sat down in our booth, looking very agitated. Hermione proposed a truce between us, for us to act civilly towards each other.
"Draco, I've called you all here to stop this petty fighting. You all remind me of two year olds!" she commanded. "Sit down. I want to tell you that I do forgive you, Draco."
But Malfoy didn't sit with us. "Sure, I'll call a truce. I don't think of you guys anymore, and contrary to what you all believe, I don't spend my nights constructing pitiful rendez-vous and ways to get back at the Wonder Trio. Look, it's over. I know it's over, and you sad excuses are just holding onto a dismal little past. It really is pitiful."
I wanted to strangle that white throat with my bare hands. He was so complacent. He made my blood boil, and the very thought of him still makes me shudder. "Listen, Malfoy, we're adults now and I don't think I'd call your daughter a pitiful past. You can't forget how you told Hermione you loved her, how you lied!"
"Oh? Did I?" he snarled, leering at us. I nearly jumped the table, and I noticed Harry's knuckles turning white as he clenched the wooden table.
"Oh, that's right," Harry fumed, "you are Mr. Numb. Silly of us for thinking you'd grown up. Obviously you haven't. How could I have forgotten? You don't love anyone."
I still can't believe anything so preposterous. But that's when it hit me.
The two were sitting outside Draco Malfoy's hospital room once again. Hermione clutched the sides of her chair to sit herself up properly. Ron continued his ceaseless tapping of his fingers against the little magazine table in front of them, his other hand resting underneath his chin. Quite suddenly, he stood up and began pacing. The man looked quite confused, as if he were battling inwardly between staying and leaving.
A nurse exited the door from Mr. Malfoy's room, glancing at the two. "He's not all here, I'm afraid. And, well, you know that we can't do much. We're trying to make him comfortable, but the disease isn't exactly well-charted," the medi-nurse said calmly. "You can go in, but try not to wake Mr. Malfoy."
Hermione picked herself up first, hesitating a little as she grasped the handle. Looking back at Ron, she hoarsely called, "Ron? Will… Will you come in with me?"
Ron nodded solemnly, jaw set firmly as he strode and pushed the door open for the young lady. Both of them winced unanimously, as they're eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness and their bodies to the murky, lukewarm temperature. This certainly felt nothing like the outside waiting room of St. Mungo's. Hermione floated through the darkness, reaching the foot of the bed.
"Oh," she said underneath her breath, gasping. "He looks horrible!"
"Hardly," Ron muttered in retort. "He looks just like himself."
"Ronald Weasley, the man is dying, watch your tongue," Hermione bit back in a harsh whisper. Then came the aching moments of silence, every being in the room frozen in his or her spot. "Well…" Hermione said, shocked at her low, speaking voice. She tried again, in a more appropriate whisper, "Well, then…"
Silence. Words were not appropriate at that moment, because silence spoke everything that the two could not convey by mere words and phrases strung together haphazardly to form a lesser meaning.
Tears poured from Hermione's eyes, watching the suave, debonair, cheeky man she had come to love rotting dead in the bed before her. She could only make out a dim shape and form, but she could feel it deep inside of her. He was slipping away, and now her baby would live without a father.
She didn't make a noise, but soon she found herself spinning around and running to the shadow that signified Ron's body. Grasping onto it, she forced his face down to see her dimly lit eyes. He patted her back reassuringly, like a good friend. But that was just it, she burned inside. She pulled his head down in a kiss, and Ron, shocked at first, melted against her. The kiss lasted seconds, and was interrupted by Ron pushing away. Hermione looked up, "I'm... Ron, I'm sorry. That was so inappropriate of me and," Hermione whispered in a hushed, frantic voice. "Please… don't leave me, I didn't mean it. Well, yes… Yes I did, but not if you didn't want to and…"
Ron, still sent aback, looked at the fuzzy silhouette. The darkness really made it hard to see their expressions. But it was enough just to hear their voice, to cut the silence with a knife and analyze it. "Hermione, we can't. I'm sorry, Hermione, really I am. I-I really like you, but this isn't right."
"And why not? Because I like you back and we've finally realized that we both like each other for once? Because I'm not afraid to step up and ask you once and for all?" Hermione's voice was low, but determined and brave.
"For God's sake, Hermione, it's not about that," Ron said, flustered.
"Oh, so this isn't about love and friendship?" Hermione huffed in defiance.
"No—I mean, well, yes but no! No! You can't take me now. I'm not your Plan B, this isn't some childish experiment! This is real human feeling, you can't take it back. I'm not your second choice—I will not be your sloppy seconds; I'm not going to sit here being second place for you, Hermione."
"But, Ron, Adelphine… And I truly… Ron, don't leave me."
"I'm afraid you left me when you first set eyes on Draco Malfoy, Hermione. Believe me; I tolerated your pregnancy and then your lovechild for these three years, but I can't take this. You tore my heart out when you looked past me during school, Hemione. You tore it out when I found out you had seen Draco Malfoy, and you ate that fucking heart when you told me you were having his baby. And you repeated the process at your almost-wedding. You repeated it when I had to hold your crying form when you were abandoned. You repeated it fucking again when Harry and I were the ones there for you when you delivered that child. I can't just forget all of this. You know that."
"But… But, Ron, surely—" Hermione began before she cut herself off mid-thought. The tears fell much quicker now, "But, Ron, he never loved me. He never told me. No one's ever said it. I just want to start over; can't we just start over? Can't you just like me, and can't I just like you? Can't we just like each other? Can't we?"
"No. We can't. We couldn't ever since you came up with the silly idea of kissing Malfoy." Ron crashed out of the room.
Then there was more silence. The hearts bled again. It seemed as if it were a common thing these days. The dead man was sleeping. The young girl was sobbing quietly. The young man had rushed off to lick his wounds in private. The two puzzle pieces wanted to work, but then one had bent itself in the making. Things were forever broken.
Ever since the children had moved out and gotten on with their lives, I've been very depressed and lonely and such. Sure, it's ridiculousness and dramatics in a way. But I miss my babies. I remember the day I realized that they didn't need old Molly anymore. I found out that the twins had just bought an apartment in Hogsmeade and were renting a space for their new joke shop. Hermione had just had her darling little baby, Adi, and Ron was really tied up with helping his little friend. Percy was still overworking at the ministry, he had moved out ages ago. Charlie, Bill, everyone had moved out. I thought I would rely on Ginny to come home and spend the summer here while we figured out what she would do for the summer. And then I got that call the day before graduation. She was supposed to come home and then we'd go back together to Hogwarts for the celebration.
"Mum," she had whined. "Listen. Stop and just listen for once, please! I'm. Not. Coming. Back. I have a flat somewhere, and I'm staying there. The graduation ceremony will be promptly at nine a.m. Sorry, mum."
There had been dead air before I realized it. I'm done with my purpose. I've grown old in age and body, with only my rough spirit holding strong. Yes, well, with this I lay myself in bed next to Arthur. He always falls asleep before me. Poor bloke with a hard job.
I pulled the covers around me like remnants of my younger life, and stared at the ceiling, as if asking it to give me something more to live for. It was mere seconds of silence before I fell asleep.
When I opened the door at three a.m., Ginny was the last person I had expected it to be. My last and only baby girl was standing outside on my doorstep, shivering and sobbing and alone. I didn't ask any questions.
"Let's get you inside," I said in that tone that can be taken as either motherly or disappointed. "And cleaned up."
After grabbing a warm blanket and starting up the fire, I magicked up a pot of hot chocolate to start warming. I sat her hardened, thin body down on our couch.
"Accio hot chocolate," I mumbled absent mindedly as I sat next to my baby. I pulled her hair out of her eyes. It was so stringy and lifeless, not even half as wild and thick as her childhood's mane. "Let's get you some nice hot chocolate, right, Gin?"
She wordlessly grabbed the cup and sipped in the warm milk. Her big, doe eyes looked up at me in their hollowness. "Gin, what's happened?"
"Mum… Mum, I need to just tell you. And you need to just listen," her hoarse cry barely reached my ears. "Mother, I've decided to take a… a not so honest lifestyle. In order to live where I do, in that lovely flat with the magical windows that are there, but not, because all you see is the fields outside and the beautiful sky and… Well, I sell Bubotuber Gel Pills, Mum. And… I know it's wrong and I don't know how to make things right."
This was huge for me to swallow in one sitting. I quickly stood up and began pacing. "Ginevra Weasley… I... You can't do this. Bubotuber gel… That's only used in the highest of hospitals and it costs just tons of money and… How do you even get it, Ginny?"
"Tha-That's the other part, you see," she bit her dry lips nervously. "I exchange something with the guy that gets the pills directly… and, well, to be frank, I sell myself."
I took a huge in take of air. The air was lukewarm, nothing special, floating into my lungs before being quickly changed into something else. Something less beautiful and pure. It was spat back out again to the world, not even close to the same thing it had been mere seconds ago.
"Gin…" I could barely speak. It made me furious, really, and upset and disappointed and I couldn't very well shout at her. She was all bones and dirt, coming to me in her time of need. I couldn't yell and scare her off. That's when I stopped from my reverie, and stared at Ginny. She had begun sobbing recklessly, her breath hitching as tears slowly traced down her hard cheek bones.
"Ginny," I said quietly, sitting with her on the couch. I put my arms around her awkward body, making a note somewhere in the back of my brain that she was wearing a torn red dress that was hardly appropriate to walk outside in. She put her head on my shoulder, sniffling like a puppy, "You can't do this anymore. We'll get you cleaned up tomorrow morning, and you can borrow one of my old dresses… Then I'll get you home and we'll get you looking for a job… Haven't you wanted to work in the Ministry, Gin?"
"The Ministry is just fine, Mum," she whispered. We drifted to sleep.
A few weeks later, I made muffins. They were fresh, buttery chocolate chip muffins. I thought they looked just impeccable. I took out a nice straw basket, with the blue cloth inside of it, and placed exactly six muffins in it. Grabbing my cloak, I threw it over my arm and took out my wand. "Apparate!"
I walked down the long hall to Ginny's apartment door. She was right; her flat was amazing and beautiful and perfect. It made me wish I had lived somewhere like this. My shoes clacked on the wood floors as I got to her door, Flat 6B. It was at the end of the hall, and it was quite large for just Ginny. I raised my hand to knock, but was silenced when I heard a man's voice.
"I've got the stuff," it boomed deeply.
"Yah? What's the payment this time?" Ginny's voice asked in a girly, yet adult voice. It made me shiver.
There were moments of silence before a loud crash against the wall next to me. And then I heard horrid noises, and the crashing against the wall repeated over and over again. I dropped the basket of muffins. What had happened to us?
Hermione sat at the kitchen table, and when she heard another high-pitched cry coming from upstairs she swiped her arm across the table—knocking the full mug of coffee over and hearing the musical splash of liquid onto the floors. Her hair was snarled, but she got up and as she made her way to the crib, her face contorted as her anger and frustration built up. Grabbing the small bundle of a baby, Hermione held it above her head. The baby whined and screamed more, as the stricken lady's fingers held it a little too firmly. Hermione thrust the baby back in the crib.
A few soft sobs escaped Hermione's mouth. She turned her back to the crib, grabbing her own face in disbelief. The small loveseat was next to the crib. She picked up a tiny little white and pink lace cushion. She advanced on the crib.
I'll do it. I will. she thought as she slowly advanced upon the crib. Hermione raised the pillow ceremoniously into the air and… And she stopped.
"Oh... oh God…" her voice transformed as she lowered the pillow and it dropped down to the floor.
Lifelessly.
"What has happened to you, Hermione old gal…" she said almost gingerly. But, no, she let her brave face fall. She crumbled to the floor, in the fetal position, sobbing and clutching the air in front of her. "Where did I go wrong?"
It was well past midnight, and all the witch-nurses had finished the day-shift and many fresh faces graced the halls that night. It was dark in Intensive Unit 104 B—no lights were permitted in the hospital room. A clock chimed somewhere in the distance, and a shadowed silhouette stood up from a chair in the corner of the room to slowly float nearer the bed.
"I loved you." A man's voice whispered down towards the bed. The only response was the unified sounds that made up a magical symphony of monitoring machines and inventions. The shadow whispered a spell and slowly the room lit up in soft, unharmful lights. The man, now clearly seen had shaggy black hair and fierce eyes that stabbed through one's soul. "And now," raspy came the voice, "I am living a lie. In a bed of misery, worse than yours at the moment, if I may daresay."
More silence was filled with the wearing sanity of the figure as the monitors continued to beep ceaselessly. His hand slowly traveled the length to the sleeping figure's face. Caressing the cold, porcelain skin, tracing the contours of the poor body's face, the man stepped closer. A tear slipped down the man's face, landing unceremoniously in a damp spot on the hospital sheets.
The machines continued to beep.
Next, the man pulled himself unexpectedly into the hospital cot, cradling the motionless body in his arms.
A wispy, airy voice escaped from the body, "But I… I don't know how to love, Ha—"
The man, presumably going by a name that started with H-A—perhaps Harold, Harvey, or maybe even Harry— sobbed brokenly and kissed the now-wet cheeks of the dying man. The machines bleeped up several times, in escalating climax.
"Everyone… everyone dies. It is humanity's eternal connection…" the dying man said. Moments of silence followed.
And then began the heartfelt sobs coming from the living man.
The machines reached their climax. And then, the resolution… was cut short. Nothing was to be heard.
The man was quite obviously dead.
So this was the end. I must admit, it hasn't been so melodramatic and as amazing as I would have hoped it to be. The life flowed out of me in tears, each one dripping off of my face like my past problems and affairs. I've done a lot of shit in my life, I have to admit this. But, all in all, it had to be. I mean, there is such thing as destiny, right? Right?
They put me in an elegant, shiny black coffin with cold trimmings and satin pillows. There is a marching procession of people who don't want to be there. They dab at their eyes with their shiny, embroidered handkerchiefs and a few even get black crocodile tears caught into their white hankies. Pansy curses herself inwardly for not wearing waterproof mascara, and then curses herself for using the expensive handkerchief to wipe at her eyes. She looks pretty amazing for a woman in mourning, her black hat pulled forward so the mesh netting daintily covers her eyes. She whinnies like a horse and howls like a banshee, screaming "Draco, my love! We almost made it…!"
The Wonder Trio is there, plus my lovechild. The baby is dressed in dark blue, rather than black, because who tailors baby clothes in black? She looks adorable, my little Adi. I wish I could have fathered her more, and even now she giggles in misunderstanding at the grandiose event occurring. My death procession. Hermione is draped in a black dress that's quite unbecoming of her. She doesn't dab at her eyes, but wears a dull expression of hate and frustration. She does not think of me on this day. Ron is wearing a very dapper little suit, and an old fashioned hat. He's taken care to look nice today, only because press will be at the funeral. Ron's face is properly sad, but I can tell he is only here for Hermione and comfort. Harry, on the other hand, is dressed in black. He wears sunglasses for the "glare" of the white, overcast skies. Behind the protective lenses, the boy's eyes were red and puffy and occasionally they would water up.
Harry left my funeral early, because press would just jump on him if they caught him sobbing at an enemy's funeral. But, then, he didn't leave because he truly honored me and loved me. He loved the idea of me, and hated me for what I did. He despised that I condemned him into a lifestyle of unhappiness. He despised that he was alone in a world full of people who grabbed and fought to get just a bit of his attention or affection.
Ginny was there too. She wore a skanky black dress that was too revealing for the occasion. She dabbed at her eyes, but stared at the open grave with malice. I read her thoughts clearly: "Why have you been the determining factor in the course of my life, Draco Malfoy? Why am I ruined because of you?" Of course, this was not blatant and realized fully. Her subconscious knew what she herself, under much medication and drugs, could not begin to understand.
A lot of others were there, my dear old mother even paid some professional mourners to say that they were colleagues or old classmates of mine. Narcissa did not attend, and old Lucius was in Azkaban.
I guess, maybe, my life was all in vain. I lived to serve the purpose of ruining others.
I almost achieved love, several times. But I was a creature, unlike any human or wizard in history. I could not love.
And all of the technical stuff—the spell that evoked a rare, deadly but dormant disease inside of me to awaken… who cast the curse at me… All of this means nothing.
Humans are universally attached and connected, whether they want to be or not. That is, if they feel and think. Otherwise, they go on living in the shallowness of open waters and clear skies and what to wear becomes one of life's trials. Humans are connected because they all feel the good, then the bad, only to find the good again. But without the bad, then what is life but a dull droning heartbeat in eternity's bookkeeping?
Unfortunately, I fell into the category of shallow destruction. Without the good, the bad just escalates inside before it is evenly distributed among others…
AN: I spent a LOT of time on this. Please review, I really would like to know your thoughts on this piece, as it means a lot to me.