A Harry Potter fic-let based on the Wendy Matthews song – The Day You Went Away. I don't own Wendy Matthew's lyrics nor JK Rowling's characters. I do however own my smidgen of a plot. This is the second Wendy Matthews song I've used for a fic, she just inspires me!
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The Day You Went Away
by
Tyde
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His wand lay in two pieces on the floor, snapped in half in a moment of rage. The dragon heartstring had dried and crumbled, lying around the wooden pieces in a cloud of dust. He was standing off to the side, shoving clothing into a bag: pants, shirts, jackets. She sat in the kitchen, a cup of peppermint tea gripped between her pale, shaking hands, the steam rising steadily off the surface. He'd never asked her what she thought, even if she wanted to come with him. All he'd said was 'No, this is something I have to do alone'.
Hey, does it ever make you wonder what's on my mind, I was only ever running back to your side, I never cried, I just watched my life go by, It's just a pack of lies, 'cause you're leaving me behind.
Last night he'd told her, as they lay in bed, exhausted physically and mentally. He said he had something rather important to tell her. Her heart had leapt in anticipation and she'd absentmindedly rubbed the finger on her left hand that had felt bare for too long. 'Was he finally going to propose? Would he admit that I belong to him?' But he'd instead told her of the whispers he'd heard on the street. The warmth under the covers seemed to turn ice cold the longer he continued to speak. The death of his father hadn't been a random event, there were countless people falling at the behest of a masked Auror. No one knew who it was but after the rising of Voldemort and his subsequent fall at the hands of Dumbledore this Auror had patrolled the streets killing off any Death Eater he could get his hands on and any person that got in the way. She liked to think that his refusal to take her with him was a sign that he cared for her, but she couldn't be certain. Perhaps he thought she'd be easily captured and give up his location. He'd taken all the pictures of them that she'd acquired and burned them to a crisp in the oven. There was no evidence in the house that they had even met. She'd wanted to keep something, even if it were one of his old quills that he no longer used but he'd refused. He was pig headed like that. Stubborn as a mule. Most of his possessions and a lot of hers had found their way into the oven that morning.
Why, after this long is there nothing I'll keep, oh, I can shout, you'll pretend you're falling asleep, I live a lie, yeah, believing that you're mine, It's just a waste of time 'cause you're leaving me behind
It didn't take him long to fill the bag with the Muggle clothing a friend had acquired for him at a second hand store down the road. He'd shuddered as he attired himself in the slightly sweat-stained shirt and thick corduroy pants. His newly acquired beard (the last thing he'd used his wand for before it's demise) itched terribly but he didn't grumble. He just scratched at it and continued unpacking the pantry that had food basics that could tide him over until he found a safe place to stay. The pieces of his wand found their way into the coals of the fireplace and bright green flames ignited the room as the magic burned along with the wood. He knelt down in front of the dying flames and reached in for some of the ash and coals, packing them into a small fake leather pouch he had on a string cord around his neck. His hands dirtied with black he proceeded to smudge them on his face, a blotch on the end of his nose, a streak down his right cheek. He'd already used a potion to turn his hair a mucky brown colour to match his beard. A voice in the back of his head vocally cringed at the filthiness he was spreading upon himself, there was none of the strutting young man left that he'd been at school. He figured this was the best disguise of all – a Muggle, and a homeless Muggle at that. What would his ancestors have thought of this? Never had a Malfoy stooped to such a level, but for his safety and wellbeing he had to do it. He glanced over at the girl sitting at the kitchen table. He wouldn't miss her, she'd been little comfort in times like these. She didn't understand, her father had never been in deep with Voldemort and his followers, Mr Parkinson didn't have a Dark Mark burned deep into his flesh, he'd be able to escape the wrath of the masked Auror that strolled the streets at night, flowing robes of white billowing out behind them. She'd still have a father. She looked up from her cup of tea that was now stone cold and hadn't been touched. Her eyes pleaded with him to stay, to say something, anything that would stop this craving inside of her. 'Goodbye' was all he said to her. Not a thank you for the food, the clothes, the place to stay. It was as if the ten years they'd spent together meant absolutely nothing to him. He stepped out into the street, the sun shining for once in this dark depressing place they called London. The sunlight illuminated him in her eyes, giving him a light sheen of gold all round. He could almost be an angel she thought, if only he wasn't such a bastard.
Hey, there's not a cloud in the sky. It's as blue as your goodbye and I thought it would rain on a day like today. Hey, there's not a cloud in sight, it's as blue as your blue goodbye and I thought it would rain the day you went away
She bundled herself up in the bedspread that night although the weather was warm and she didn't need it. Ten years of not letting her emotions get to her took their toll and she found herself sobbing into the early hours of the morning, her face streaked with tears. Draco. The name she would utter over and over again whilst trying to rock herself to sleep had surely engraved itself into the walls and floors around her by now. Pansy didn't bother to wipe her tears away. There was no one left to impress anymore.
He's on the buses, and the aeroplanes with some groceries and a sleeping bag...