Disclaimer: Don't own anything, not even my soul. Its locked in a box below my friend's bed.

Her

BY: AKale

I saw him hear her before he could spotting her, ears picking up the faint trace of a tinkling laugh even in the babble and confusion of noises in the Diagon Alley. His eyes searched for the source and finally rested on the retreating figure of one tall witch, with oodles of unruly bushy chestnut hair, color mirroring her warm eyes as she clutched the hand of a tiny girl as she toddled beside her, arms full of shopping, eyes a twin of her mother (that much was obvious) clashing with her flaming red hair.

He stiffened and then, realizing that neither of them noticed him, leaned against the wall, visibly relaxing. I saw his eyes growing unfocused as he relived an old memory.

I saw him grow more and more distant from me as he reeled himself back to the past, amongst the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts.

I saw him relive stolen moments, stolen kisses, stolen touches, standing outside the shop as he supposedly waited for me.

His wife.

Lost in the past, he stood with, his hands in his pockets. A tall striking figure in black, with pale skin and platinum blond hair, yet to realize that I was now right beside him.

I was about to reach out to him, when I heard her laugh again.

The sound made him snap out of his reverie. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Puzzled I looked again.

She was still there, with her easy laugh and twinkling smile, with a couple of men beside her. A tall red hair with broad shoulders on which a small boy rested stooped down to peck her as she blushed furiously while the dark haired speckled man looked on with a small smile.

The golden trio. The brave, the brainy and the loyal.

Recognizing them from my Hogwarts days, I turned back to my husband and recoiled in shock.

His eyes-cold, obscure, grey eyes- skimmed with emotions which I never thought existed.

Anger, pain, remorse, guilt , amusement. Sadness echoing from their depths. Loud and infinite.

I had never seen him like this. A totally different person. Not the cold , calm and collected young man with scathing remarks ( mostly directed at me) I married.

But today I saw the other side of the coin. The lost boy. The willing prisoner of his memories. The haunted.

I wanted to reach out to him. To comfort him. To caress the face I fell in love with. And so I quietly said his name and slipped my arm through his.

He jerked as if woken from a dream and his eyes wildly roved around before it settled on me. It took him a moment to realize that I was there. That I did exist. I saw his eyes narrow. Cold, impersonal, bitter.

He shrugged himself free and jutted his chin towards the nearest fireplace, walking away from me.

His walls back up and well guarded.

Back to the unyielding manor.

A few nights later, as the rest of the house supposedly slept (with half of the elves away on their weekly trip, much to my chagrin. He insists though. It's a small tribute to her, in his own way) I crept to his study and got out his Pensieve. I knew he emptied his memories of her in it-things which he didn't want to remember. Things which guaranteed pain.

After a deep breath, I plunged to his memories settling for the day we were out in Diagon Alley.

I winced at the sound of her voice as my surrounding grew clearer, emerging from the mist. I saw the scene again.

I finally saw things from his perspective.

Standing outside Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes, I saw him drink the happiness radiating from the little family, hair shining from the sun as they enjoyed each other's company.

I saw him look at the red headed Weasely and felt a flash of fury and pain. Irritation as his hand held her waist. Anger and loathe as he pressed his lips on her.

With Potter however, it was guilt and shame. As if he had betrayed him. But also mutual respect and admiration.

With the children, it was fondness and amusement. And wistfulness. I clutched my stomach. This was something I couldn't give him.

And then she took his attention and a wave of sadness overrode me.

His eyes registered the faint blush and the sparkle in her eyes as she husband stood over her.

Denial, pain, guilt. Deep regret. A warm feeling. Love . beauty. The pain of loving someone. The pain of letting her go.

I felt confusion as his eyes turned to me.

Mistake, the memory screamed as I saw myself, with a foolish smile and a hopeful grin as I saw myself reach out to him. Fury washed over me as I felt him sneer.

I felt heaviness inside me as I understood. But I didn't love the man for nothing. I will make any efforts to be the woman he wants me to be. Go to any lengths. He didn't need the Mudblood anymore. I was there. His wife. His soul mate.

As I prepare to pull myself out when my surroundings grew misty again. A new memory. And I waited.

I wish I didn't.

The scene changed to the large, cavernous library upstairs, enriched with the fragrance of old books, worn leather and polished wood. A replay of last evening.

" It was a mistake. I am not ashamed to admit it," Draco muttered as he stood in front of the fire, hand clutching the wine glass, musing into the flames.

" What is? Your marriage to Pansy? Any fool can see that," Blaise dryly remarked from the depths of an armchair. " You shouldn't have let her go."

" It was for the best. There was nothing I could do about it. He gave her much more than I could ever had. I was tainted. I was a Death Eater."

" You would have, you aren't the old ferret she loathed…as that Muggle author says, love conquers everythi-"

" I don't love Granger anymore!," my husband snarled, turning around and swiftly walking out of the room, barking orders to an elf.

Blaise sighed.

Suddenly, I was on the floor of the study. Back to the reality. As my body started shivering from the cold of the stones, i replayed the last scene. Once. Again . once more.

And I realized the plain hard truth.

There is so much history in the way he looks at her, the way he says her name. like a soft caress of a feather. When he looked at her, it feels like an electric charge, like a volcano waiting to erupt. A storm waiting to thunder.

I don't love her anymore, he says.

But the way he says the word, her, tells me a different story.

"After all this time? Always….."

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