To Love Again
Disclaimer:
Me- Give me Harry Potter!
J.K. Rowling-NEVER!!!!!!!
Me- sigh Still don't own it.
Except Maybe One
"Look at me," he said.
"No," was her reply.
"Why not," he pursued.
"There isn't anything to look at," her cold voice returned.
He felt his heart plummet.
"Do you really want nothing to do with me," he asked, half knowing the answer to his question.
"You used me, then you claim to love me. And then when I return your love, you push me away and hurt me."
She pauses.
"As far as I'm concerned, I feel nothing for you but. . .indifference. I don't want anything to do with you."
Her words hung in the air. He gazed into her brown eyes. They were filled with sadness, hurt, anger, and another emotion he could not identify. Hate possibly, but he couldn't be sure, it was masked too well by the cold and distant demeanor of the woman who his heart longed for.
He felt any hope of winning her back diminish and disappear. He chanced another glance at her face. She regarded him as coldly as before. He felt like crying out and taking her into his arms. But he knew better not to, it would have done nothing to help his cause.
"Please, just leave," she said looking away from his destroyed form.
Again he looked at her, his heart ached, and with that last glance, he left her presence. . .
It has been fifty years to that day, and Draco Malfoy rose to attend a service to honor the death of his love from long, long ago.
It's been a long hard life for Draco, all those years he had gone with out the person he loved the most. He believed that time wold heal all his wounds, but her death only added to his wounded hear even more. In fact, each time he thought about her, he only managed to add more salt to his self inflicted gashes.
He thought, often actually, if things would have been different, and the circumstances were changed, if his love for her could have been nurtured. But he couldn't know now. She was gone, at the age of seventy eight, a loving mother, wife, and friend. It hurt that she had moved on while she still haunted his dreams, his thoughts, and his life.
After he had been sent away, Draco did nothing but follow her work. Each article she wrote for The Prophet, he had been the first to read. Each book that she published under her real and her pen name, he owned, and had thumbed through so much that they were worn with use. Each time she was mentioned in any way in the muggle and wizarding media, he would have been the first to know. He followed her work as closely and as lovingly as a husband, but she didn't need another one of those. She could have cared less of what he thought of her, Draco was sure of it. But he couldn't know now.
Draco watched from a distance as she was lowered into the ground. He saw each member of her amazing life come to drop a rose on top of her casket. Draco would do the same as well, later, when the rest of her mourners were gone. It was a gloomy day, it matched Draco's mood exactly. Only rain would have made him feel better, but thinking of rain only reminded him of HER. She loved the rain. . .and hated him.
He couldn't blame her. He was scum and grime not even fit for a house-elf to clean. Belittling himself was all that made him feel good now. He looked at his reflection on a gleaming tombstone, he had aged with grace, as all Malfoy's do, but he didn't see that. He saw a lonely old man, who has been grieving the loss of his love, his only love, for over fifty years. He'll never have another chance to make amends. Or to hold her in his arms once more.
The crowd was leaving now, only two, three if he counted himself, were still standing under the unhappy weather. The-one-that-would-not-die, Harry Potter, and Hermione's loving husband, a man with no name, and no face to Draco. It didn't matter, it was that man with no name that had won her heart, and Draco hated him for that. It wasn't that the man rivaled him in wealth, or that he was better looking, but that man won her heart through truth, and sincerity. Draco knew everything about that man, and he was practically a saint. How could he compare to someone who has done no wrong in his life? He wouldn't, or at least that was what he believed.
At last the two men leave, and Draco starts to approach Hermione's last resting place. Draco relied heavily on his cane as he walked, age and a suicide attempt did that to him. He purposely stepped in front of a car to end his suffering, but at the last moment he was pulled back by a stranger and only his left leg was injured. But Draco was a broken man already, and there was no repair that would fix what was wrong with him.
Except maybe one.
AN: SOo?? What do you guys think?? Continue? Tell me all about it in a review. Please?? Push the review button now!! shakes fist........haha, I'm just kidding. puts on sad face Please review??
I 3 you! But I'll 3 you more if you review.
Super Sycoh