Draco stood in front of his fireplace. The warmth of the flames engulfed the lower half of his body. He held his head up with one of his arms as he stared at the flicks of embers dispersing all over the logs. He cracked a knuckle in his other hand, then pulled himself back. A picture on the mantle caught his eye. He picked it up, his vision becoming temporarily blurry as he watched the loop of him and his wife. He dips her, brings her forth, so close, and kisses her hard.

It had been three hundred and fifty-seven days since she died, since she took her last breath and batted those pretty green eyes. He took the picture with him as he went to sit down at his desk. It was a mess. Scrolls, books, and other important things for work, but not him crowded his workspace. He pushed all of it to the side, causing it to crash onto the floor into a wild mess. He didn't care. He set that picture before him and stared. He leaned back into his chair and began fiddling with his wedding band, now on his right hand. He twirled the silver piece round and round when his attention was taken from the photo momentarily to a noise. He waited for the sound to appear again, but it didn't. As he went to look back at his photograph, a book grabbed his attention. It was barely sitting on the edge of his desk, from where he had thrown everything off. He reached for it and untucked the leather cord that wrapped around it. Write to me. He scoffed. What good would it do to write to her? She was dead. She'd not read it ever. Would she be terribly pissed if he told her he hated her for dying? Would she be angry if he screamed fuck you all over the pages? He didn't mean those words. But his anger was so desperately warranted. He choked out a sob. How dare he feel that way. He opened the drawer right beneath the shelf of his desk and grabbed one of the quills his wife had gifted him. It was one of those that never ran out of ink. Hesitantly, he opened the book, pressing down, allowing the crease to rest. The blank pages were blinding. What would he say? What could he say? He sighed out another sob but put the tip of the quill against the paper and began:

Dear Hermione,

I think about you often. That's what I am supposed to do, right? Keep the memory of you close.

I have many stories I could tell about you, but I keep most to myself. Rosalyn asks about you all the time. I tend to tell her school-year stories. I think she enjoys knowing you were young once.

I miss our moments, our late nights, and our shared kisses. I miss you.

Our anniversary just passed. We would've been married for eight years, you know that?

One memory stands out to me the most, though. It was a summer evening, and the golden hour of the sun hit your eyes, and the color of your irises was the perfect shade of green. The highlights of your hair shined, and your smile, Gods, your smile was perfect. You looked at me and told me you loved me for the first time. Ha! Why couldn't I have just said these things to you? I guess I feared you'd call me a sorry-sap. But I know you would've loved every bit of it.

Draco set his quill down between the edge of his journal and pressed his palms against his eyes, rubbing them hard. His head had started to ache about an hour ago.

"Daddy…" The man glanced up from his hands and saw Rosalyn, his daughter, peeking around the corner of his study's door. Her curly blonde hair stuck out everywhere but in her braid.

"Hey, Rosie, what's the matter?" Draco asked as he stood from his chair. He kneeled and held out his arms for the little girl to come to him. She maneuvered herself from behind the threshold. She was dressed in a hot pink two-piece pajama set with yellow polka dots all over it, and a hippogriff stuffie from Hagrid was nestled beneath her arm. Her little toes were barely peeking from the long bottoms.

Her lower lip puckered and began to quiver, "I miss mummy."

Draco sighed heavily. His eyes watered, but he looked away and sniffed back the tears. He took one of Rosalyn's hands and rubbed his thumb over it. "I know. Would you like to go see her?"

Rosalyn looked down at her toes and her face contorted in contemplation, finally saying, "will she know we are there?"

"Of course she will," Draco answered, not taking his eyes off his small daughter.

Rosalyn took in a deep breath, "okay. I would like to see her in the morning, please."

"Sounds good, my love. Come on, let's get you snuggled back into bed." Draco stood much taller than the little girl. He held out a hand for her to take, but she took the sleeve of his shirt. They walked together back up the stairs and into her room. He helped her climb into her much too big bed and tucked her back in. "Do you need any potion to help you sleep?" He asked.

Rosalyn shook her head, "no, it's okay. I would like for the stars, please."

Draco took his wand from his pants pocket and held it toward the ceiling of Rosalyn's room. Tiny specks began appearing over the ceiling. Constellations, planets, and galaxies appeared in a flow of different colors of warm pinks, blues, and purples. "Thank you," Rosalyn said as she snuggled her hippogriff a little tighter.

Draco leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Good night, darling."

"Night. I love you."

Draco felt his mouth tremble, "I love you." As the man stood back up, he turned to leave only to find that he nearly ran into —

"Hermione?"