She put him out
Like the burning end of a midnight cigarette…He watched her from the shadows, watched as she flicked her curly brown hair over her shoulder with a small smile. Watched as she went out with Victor Krum. Wished his was the hand stroking her soft cheek. H knew it was wrong, even improper. Purebloods were not meant o mix with muggles. Even extraordinarily pretty ones. But surely one dance wouldn't hurt. Would it?
He took a deep breath and strode purposefully in her direction, but his way was blocked by easily, who intervened.
"What do you want, Mafoy?"
" Move, weasel." He snarled, unhappy to see that Hermione was turning around with a small frown on her face.
" What do you want, Draco?" she sighed, as though expecting a fight. To be as near as to feel that sweet breath on his face! But no, he could not. It wasn't right.
"Nothing." He stated, simply enough. How that puzzled look as her brows pulled together made him want to smile.
How his thought tortured hi as he walked away! How her sweet, murmuring voice haunted his dreams, nay, his every waking moment! Her innocence, her trust was precious to him. But it was not his to take. Nor could it ever be. His was of the different sort, the kind that was to stay away from all those that were not dwellers of the shadow. How he cursed the brand upon his forearm. For without, she could have been his.
She broke his heart
He spent his whole life trying to forget
Her face swam before his eyes and he found himself following her around in hopes of hearing her winkling laugh, or see a glimpse of her laughing eyes. Somehow, as though they knew and couldn't bear the reverence he had for her, Harry and Ron always managed to ridicule and laugh until he was forced o turn away, forced to abandon the hope he still harbored. That one day, somehow, she would be his.
We watched him drink his pain away
A little at a time but he never could get
drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night…
He couldn't stop thinking about her until one day, he found her alone outside the dungeons. Diamonds sparkled in her eyes and down her nose where they stopped, trembling until they fell to the floor ad dotted the cold granite.
"What's the matter, Granger?"
How she looked, misery leaking from every pore as her face turned from serene to a spiteful glare, " Why do you care?"
He had no answer and stood, dumb, until she brushed past him.
"Wait!"
She turned, stopped with her face still set in its angry pose. He stepped swiftly, and, before she could object, placed his lips against hers in a stolen moment.
Her hand was across his face in an instant, leaving an acute red mark on the creamy whiteness of his skin. Her violence astounded even herself, for her eyes widened a bit before she turned ad ran up the stairs.
He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short,
But this time it was bigger
He lay in bed, watching the canopy above him. Her face would not go away it stayed there, accusing and distant. How her face haunted him! Followed him around and never gave him a moment of peace.
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow.
With a note that said "I'll love her till I die"
When we buried him beneath the willow,
The angels sang a whisky lullaby…
For five years he lived without her. Five years of silently watching her happy life with Weasley. Years he wished she had spent with him. Mourning what could have been, detesting who he was and wishing it could be different.
He had no release until one day. He realized what he had to do to rid himself of her memory. He closed his eyes.
…
The neighbors heard the screaming when the maid found the body. Beside it was a note, " I'll love her until I die…"
The rumors flew,
But no body knew how much she blamed herself.
She was with her husband when she heard the news. It was a pity, they said. A real pity. But their eyes were accusing. Their voices stabbed her like knives. She knew why he had done it. She knew whose face haunted him.
She looked over the sink into the mirror and cursed that which was reflected.
For years and years, she
Tried to hid the whisky on her breath
Alcohol helped fuzz the edges, helped her forget. But she never truly let go of his memory, never allowed herself to forget who she truly was. A monster.
Truthfully, it was not her fault. But then, tit was. Why else was he dead? Because he loved Ginny? No. For she knew he had loved her, yet she tossed away any hope he had.
And that night in the dungeon… when they had kissed. She made out like she was so upset. But…she wanted it. She wanted to devour that moment with hungry lips. But she hadn't. Why? She didn't know.
She finally dank her pain away,
A little at a time but she never
Could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night…
Her eyes were blurred and she was sure someone was talking too her. But listening was too much effort. Maybe this time she would wake up and her life would just be a dream…
She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a photo. It was Him. The one she was trying o forget. The one she didn't, but also did kill. The one whose accusing eyes watched her from every shadow, waited around every corner.
With one hand she clutched his photograph… with the other she pulled the trigger.
She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger.
And finally drank away his memory.
Life is short, but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get off
We found her with her face down in the pillow, clinging to his picture for dear life.
Her husband found her, a crimson river flowing around her like a demented halo.
We laid her next to him beneath the willow,
While the angels sang a whisky lullaby.
She was buried next to the one she both hated and loved, beneath a weeping willow tree. There was no plaque, no monument to state who was there. There was just the gentle whispering of the wind as it flitted throughout the grass.