As I left Draco's funeral, the wind began to howl, screaming my pain and moaning my longing. It tugged at the black lace of my dress, urging me to go back in time and make things better.

But I couldn't.

And now, I couldn't even face my family. I was through with everything. Smiling my empty smile, laughing my hollow laugh. I wanted desperately for someone to see through my fake exterior and the one person who had was Malfoy.

How do I know this? How do I know why he killed himself, why he loved me?

Because they gave me his last letter to the world.

~Dear everyone who cares, (that being no one or I wouldn't be doing this,)

I'm tired. I just can't do it anymore.

First off, let me say that I am not my father. I will NOT join Voldemort, I will NOT kill innocents. I have never really cared about that mudblood crap anyway. Then, why, you may ask, was I constantly mean to Potter, Weasley, and Granger? Isn't it obvious?

I was jealous.

I was in love with, of all people, Virginia Weasley. It hurt to see Weasley and Granger fall in love, and Potter find the girl of his dreams. I think that Ginny loved Potter, just as I loved her. That was too unfair.

She told me once. She said she loved me, and oh, how I wanted to believe her. But I couldn't. I knew it wasn't true. She had probably been sent by her brother, and fled with embarrassment when I found out the truth. She later sent me a letter confirming my suspicions.

So; why didn't I kill myself then? Why wait until now, when I've graduated Hogwarts and she has forgotten me?

Because I heard news of a wedding. A Mr. Ronald Weasley marrying Miss Hermionie Granger. And that's when it hit me.

One day I will see Ginny married. She will be happy, she will be complete. And though I will not be invited, I will stand outside and cry.

Crying at a wedding? How disgraceful to the name of Malfoy. Might as well die before I have to succumb to that. ( By the way, the last lines are to be spoken with sarcasm oozing off of every word.)

Draco ~

I threw the letter to the ground, the rain coming down from all sides. The wind threw the letter back at me, mocking me. And then I ran.

And now I am here. In the middle of the woods, sobbing. A figure from the shadows came out to laugh.

"I knew you'd miss me." Draco said with a satisfied smirk. I stared him down coolly, completely unsurprised by his presence.

"Go away, imagination. You can't fool me anymore. He's dead. I think that letter was my imagination, too. He didn't love me." I said, tears still streaming down my face. "Couldn't he see? Why didn't he realize that I was just as alone as he was, that I needed him?"

The figment of my imagination was smiling, more proof that it wasn't real. Draco never smiled, at least not at me.

"Get away!" I screamed, flinging myself to the ground. "Leave me in peace. I'll never again even be able to imagine him in peace, imagine him loving me. Because he didn't! It's all a lie!"

And that was when my hallucination started to behave very strangely. My imagined Draco put his arms around me, stroked my hair, and shushed me until I stopped crying. Which was very strange. Because imaginations do not do any of those things.

I pulled away and looked him in the eyes. The silvery eyes that looked past me, never at me.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Do you love me?" he asked at the same time.

"My question first." I said stubbornly. He stared me down.

"I am Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy is dead." I said calmly.

"Draco Malfoy was pronounced dead because of a letter. They never found the body." He said just as coolly. I stared at him as the realization hit me. And then I smiled, the real kind of smile.

"Yes." I said. He shot me a quizzical glance.

"Yes to what?"

"Yes to your first question." I smiled. He returned the gesture, staring at me, not past me. And then Draco Malfoy, the Draco who loved me, who had faked his death and was now standing next to me, did a crazy thing.

He kissed me.

In the middle of the forest, me in my stained black silk and tear- stained face, and him in his black suit. Me, with my fiery hair in disarray, and him, not a strand of hair out of place.

He had faked his death to be with me. He had planned to run away, when he saw me leave that letter on his grave. That letter had made him follow me.

They would never accept us, he told me. Our parents, society. They didn't believe in us. So what did we do? We ignored them. They had never been there for us, never seen us for who we really were.

And then we were married, in that same hidden forest, the ravens our only company.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it.