This was written to the song "Dead Memories" by Slipknot. Self-imposed challenge. I'm pretty sure it was meant to be a post-Dramione thing that was somehow epilogue compliant, but I'm not sure, as I wrote it about six months ago, when I was still obsessed with that pairing. Anyway, it's vague enough I guess you can take it however you like. Meant to be in the point of Draco Malfoy.
DEAD MEMORIES
He sat in an armchair, close to a fire that had long ago faded to ashes, nursing a glass of Ogden's finest and relishing the burn it left behind. If only he could stay here, he thought. If only he could stay with his memories of her, the her that wanted a chance for him, for them.
There was nothing but silence and darkness surrounding him. So unlike what it used to be, with her and her light, always there and never quiet.
He missed her. He missed the him he was whenever he she was close. Her and her sunshine, shedding light into the darkest of shadows. Mending him and his terrible mistakes, he had thought.
But all that had come of this was deeper, darker, permanent scars. So much more painful, so much more eternal.
He had seen her today. Her and her happy family. All sunshine and happiness. Everything he had lost.
It wasn't fair. She was gone.
He shouldn't have to keep her inside, and him, an old him, someone almost long forgotten, yet never so lucky.
And with these thoughts, he picked up his wand from the table and held it to his head, trying to dredge up the courage he hadn't had before, to end it. They were only two words.
Only two words and he wouldn't have to feel anymore.
Yet some things could never be so easy. So instead, he improvised.
One word, so much simpler.
It would be it's own end, in a way.
"Obliviate."
Only a ghost of a whisper, and he fell, his glass smashing, the liquid spilling all over the marble flooring of his private study.
And though he remembered no more, others lived on.
His wife, who found him the next day, could not dredge up honest feelings of mourning. She had not lost, really, only the others, the ones who had not seen it coming.
She had known that there would be only one end for him.
He would take the easy route, as always.
So as he still breathed, head filled with memories that no longer lived, he could almost feel a hand in his, her hand, his light.
But he did not, for all he had left was dead memories, caused by his own cowardice and pain, and as she tried to heal him of his own suffering as she had once before, a lone tear fell from her eye.
So this was the end.