Disclaimer: I don't own HP...JKR does
Author's Note: I was bored and this came to mind for whatever unknown reason. Enjoy.
The Empty Page
Did you ever wonder at the fact that some people can simply sit down and write for hours about everything and nothing altogether without stopping once and yet, others have so much to say, but they can't find the words to articulate what they want to express? And others still, know exactly what they want to say and how to say it, but they don't have anything worth saying at all. Why is it that the ones who really need to express themselves are the ones who simply can't? That's a question I've been asking myself for years upon years, trying to comprehend yet another of the world's many mysteries.
I, personally, envy those who can sit and write continuously about nothing, or even those who have a purpose. You see, whenever I have something that's actually really important to say that needs to be written down, I just can't seem to put it onto parchment effectively. I mean, sure, I know exactly want I want to get across, exactly what needs to be said and exactly how I want to go about saying it. However, when it comes down to actually putting quill to parchment and writing something, I'm speechless. Well, something like that, at least.
There are so many emotions, so many things that have gone unsaid for far too long. I've tried numerous times to put it all into words. As far as I've ever gotten is this single blank page with a dot of ink where I began, but hesitated before continuing, serving to completely lose my train of thought, at which point, I draw a blank, seemingly taking lessons from the page before me. And even here I pause, not sure where to go next. I've got so many things flying through my chaotic, mixed up, city of a brain and not one thing will slow enough for me to capture it and place it on this page.
I've lost much of myself over the years, taken over completely by the need to write a single thing to you - Something that to most would seem insignificant, easy to say. But you know me. I never was one to do things the way that everyone else did. I just can't seem to grasp those two short, definitely not simple, words no matter how hard I try. It's as if the words themselves deem me unworthy of their utterance or even their placement upon a blank page by my hand.
All of my life, I've played a part. It wasn't necessarily one that I wanted to play, but I had to do it anyway. I know that by playing that part I hurt you once. Even with that knowledge, you dug into my true being and managed to melt away the ice from around that thing that beats within my chest, giving me life. What was it that you called it? Oh yes, of course – my heart. That was something I never even realized that I had until you came along and showed me the way out of darkness. You took me to the light, to the place where I found out that love was a real emotion and not just something talked of in story books. I discovered through you that love was not something simply reserved for everyone else, but I had the capacity to feel it myself and I did, thanks to you.
If only you could read my mind, it would make things so much easier. The only problem with that sentiment is that you can't read my mind, and so I'm stuck trying to explain things to you that I have no clue about myself. If only I could print this whole thought process from the database that is my mind and hand it to you. Perhaps then, you would know what I've been trying to tell you. No, I'm not trying to say that I love you. You already know that. Well, at least I hope you do. I told you that I did and I just hope that you still hold that to be true, even after what I did to you.
You see, that part that I once played – the one that you freed me from – well, I reverted back into it. I know I hurt you when I did that, but with the flood of new emotions that I had never before felt, I didn't know what to do. I simply took back the persona that I felt most secure in. I mean, I did play that part for most of my life. Twenty-three years of my life to be exact. Then you came along and I had a completely different role to play. It was no longer that of a snobby, spoiled rich kid, who had everything and was quite good at rubbing your heritage in your face. I became the loving, caring man who was just like everyone else that you said you always knew I could be.
To be honest, the prospect of this new part terrified me and I knew only how to revert back to my old ways. I didn't know that by doing that I would hurt you so much and I know that all you ask of me now are those two small words, but I just don't know how to say them. I've never had to say them before. I've never had to make amends for anything. It was always on the other person's shoulders – their responsibility. After all, I was the heir of a great fortune, why should I do it?
You told me once that I had a very sophisticated and elegant way with words. I do believe that you were under the influence of something at the time and I'm trying to remember if we had wine that night. Still, I maintain that you weren't thinking straight. I have about as sophisticated a way with words as a mentally handicapped dung beetle. Surely you must have been mistaken.
How could somebody whom supposedly has such an elegant way with words not even be able to articulate a simple I'm so...... You see, I can't do it. I slip up every time. You know just as well as I, that all I want to do is sweep you up into my arms and say those words, but I can't and I can't seem to write them either, because this blank page sits before me as it has for as long as I can remember.
My dear Hermione, I don't know how to say it. I don't know how to make you see that I am what I am and I don't mean to hurt you. How do I make you see that I love you? How can I make you see that I want nothing more than to be your Ferret, no matter how I hate the nickname? I want nothing more that to say those two words to you, but I wasn't raised with the knowledge as to how. I'm so frustrated that I can't just say them or at least show you, but I can't. Believe me, I've tried but I can't. I want to, I really do.......but I can't.
But wait! What's this here? It seems that my blank page is no longer blank. The dots of ink from my quill which has been perched above the page for a long while have formed words. Those two words that I've wanted with all of my heart to speak to you. I suppose that I'll have to settle for two small words on a blank page addressed to my love for now and build up to the vocalization later. Staring down at those two small words that have given me so much grief, I don't understand why I couldn't just say them in the first place.
So, Hermione, here is my proclamation, which I will gladly state in front of everyone if I must:
I, Draco Lucien Malfoy, am Sorry.