Hello! I had an epiphany today about a story I wanted to write out and this was it (more to come still) but it's gonna be a tough one! Stay tuned :)

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of JK Rowling and I do not claim to own any of them.


"I can't do this anymore," Astoria shouted, "it's been over five years and you're not over it."

Draco had been asleep and was abruptly woken up by his fiancée packing her things while shouting at him. He knew she was hurt, and worse was that he had been the one to constantly hurt her. He didn't want to make her feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

"I am Tori, I am over it," he countered, voice still full of sleep, "how many times do I have to tell you?"

He was sitting atop their bed, as they'd been living together for just over 2 years. This wasn't their first spat over his dreams—or nightmares. After the war, Draco had suffered immensely through the trials, but his psyche had never recovered, his loss had been too great. His parents, his friends and Her—Astoria had never understood. She'd luckily been sent away into hiding along with her sister and some of their friends.

It had been Draco's parents' wish that he marry Astoria from a young age, so he'd decided to honour them by sticking by her. He cared for her, but he didn't think he could love anyone, not after the war. He'd been broken beyond repair, and he thought that if he let anyone close enough that he'd break them too. It was one thing for him to be self-destructive, but he refused to destroy another person—especially someone who'd been as sheltered as Astoria Greengrass. She hated always being kept at a distance, but he physically could not allow himself to let her in. Draco didn't blame her for being upset with him, he would never love her properly and she knew it.

Astoria was breathing heavily as she finished packing the last of her belongings. Her usually perfect hair was dishevelled as though she'd run her hands through it many times. Her eyes appeared misty, and her voice cracked as she finally said, "You could tell me as many times as you wish, you could even write a book about it," a single tear began streaming down her face, "but you'll never get over it Draco. You dream of it every night."

Every night, he refrained from ruefully scoffing. His past haunted him during every waking moment and terrorized his sleep, it had been this way since the war. Memories of a different life flashed in his mind; his time at Hogwarts, being recruited by death eaters, doing terrible things to muggles and muggleborns, the war itself and… her. Draco's eyes burned at the last memory he had of her, nobly taking on some of the fiercest and most lethal wizards in all of Britain. Her chocolate eyes meeting his as soon as some foreign killing curse struck her, and she'd instantly vanished. Any trace of her short and unfair life, gone in an instant.

No, he would never get over it. He would never get over the absolute horror of watching her die in front of him. Draco would never get over the bottomless pit of grief he felt for the girl he'd loved with every ounce of his being. His screams, the screams of her friends, and everyone else who'd ever loved her—it was the most traumatizing thing he'd ever been through. Ever since that day, Draco couldn't bring himself to feel. His nightmares betrayed his unfeeling everyday demeanour, allowing Astoria to hear his innermost fears, regrets, and his unwavering love for another. All of it left him feeling worse and worse as time passed. He missed her deeply.

"I can't control my dreams," he choked, "I'm sorry, you don't have to leave."

She looked at him with so much despair then, and Draco nearly lost it. He didn't want Astoria's pity; he didn't want anyone's pity.

"I need to leave Draco," she grabbed his hand, "I need someone who can love me the same way I love them—the way you loved her."

A tear streamed down his face this time. Draco wasn't sure if it had been her words, or the softness of her voice but he was frozen in place. Astoria genuinely wanted to be happy with someone, how could he deny her that?

"You call out her name a lot," Astoria continued, "and that's okay, but it hurts me to know you'll never be able to love me that way."

"Tori, I am so sorry—" he choked back a sob, "you deserve to be happy."

"So do you," she smiled sadly, "which is why I think it's just better for both of us if I go."

Numbly, the blond nodded his agreement. He looked into her clear blue eyes, wondering if he could have ever loved Astoria the same way he'd loved her all those years ago… he immediately found himself wishing her eyes were chocolate brown, with amber specks and that her hair was darker and bushier. That sudden thought squashed any doubts or regret he'd felt just then. Draco and Astoria were meant to be friends and nothing more.

"Goodbye Draco," the younger Greengrass said, "take care of yourself, please."

"You too, Tori," Draco replied, as he watched her leave.

Draco had always thought that if she left or if he were to end things, he'd undoubtedly feel lonelier and more withdrawn than ever. Strangely, he felt at peace, as if this was supposed to happen—like he was supposed to be alone. Maybe with enough alone time to think, process and mourn the love he'd lost, Draco would finally move on.

He'd decided a drink was in order, as he made his way through his entirely glass-walled flat, Draco couldn't help but admire the lights of muggle London before him. When he'd first moved there, he thought one day he'd walk down the street and run into her. It had been silly but being in a muggle city simply made him feel closer to her. The Malfoy heir had even gone as far as going to muggle stores to find her perfume, her shampoos and had even tried finding the flat she'd grown up in. At the time, Draco needed a reminder of her that didn't involve watching her die over and over in his head. He missed her smell, the way she tasted when he kissed her, and simply admiring the way her eyes lit up when she was talking about her family. She'd been so proud of her parents, their jobs, their acceptance of her being a witch—it had made him jealous back then, but Draco wished he could have met them when he first arrived. Unfortunately, he hadn't the slightest clue of their whereabouts and he simply presumed the Dark Lord had gotten to them.

At least they hadn't dealt with losing her, he thought to himself as he downed his glass of Firewhiskey.

After pouring himself another glass, Draco did something he hadn't done in a long time. As he made his way over to his private chest and muttered a spell to unlock it, he took a deep breath and opened it. Inside, hidden beneath all his most valuable possessions was a simple photograph. It had been years since Draco last looked at it, but after the events of tonight… he just needed to see her.

The picture itself was a still, given to him by her. She'd called it a Polaroid photo, and he remembered being confused as to why it didn't move. She'd simply told him about how muggles already had a moving picture type of technology, called video or film—it had been so strange at the time, yet when she'd given him the photograph Draco found that he quite liked how she was the only subject in the frame, unmoving and smiling like she would when he said something clever.

Looking at the picture, Draco felt his chest tighten and tears immediately build up once more.

"Granger," he whispered to her portrait, his finger tracing the paper.

He began to sob, as he thought of how young she was when her life was taken from her. It was unfair, that she would never get the chance to work at the ministry as she always hoped to. She would never get to watch her friends become successful in their jobs either, or see them start families—or start her own. It killed him, how she was taken so young—eternally a teenager in the minds of all who'd known her.

"Why did you have to leave me," he said through tears, "I can't do this without you—I don't want to do this without you."

Draco thought about all the plans they'd made together for when the war would end, they'd had contingency plans for both scenarios. If they defeated Voldemort, they would purchase a flat together in London and work extremely hard at building their careers before starting a family. When they'd spoken of this, it had been the first time that the boy didn't feel scared of his future, or committing to someone—it had been so easy, too easy. Just like how it had been easy to love her.

If they lost the war, they would move to some isolated country and just live out their days in peace with each other. They were just ready to spend their lives together, as long as they had each other, anything else was doable.

Nothing was doable anymore, as it were.

"I need you Granger," he cried once more, "do you hear me? I can't do this without you."

His sudden outburst released a bit of magic into the air, making him spill some of his drink onto the photograph. Panicked, he muttered a spell to dry it and quickly set down his glass, not yet ready to put the picture away.

"I miss you so much it hurts," he held the picture against his chest, once again in tears, "you deserved so much better, love."

Draco thought of her friends then. Potter and Weasley, as horrible as they'd all been to each other at Hogwarts, were now some of his best mates. When they'd all lost Hermione, their joint grief had almost been like an anchor, reminding him how special he'd been to be loved by her, and it also sometimes reminded him that she had been real. Whenever they'd visit her grave, it was always together, and it made it somewhat easier. They all wished it had been them instead of her and they too, had nightmares constantly.

Taking one last look at the 18-year-old girl in the picture, Draco kissed the paper and muttered another "I love you," before storing it back into his chest.

He locked it away, another piece of his heart going with in with it.


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