Remember When
PART 4: The Malfoy Graveyard
Tinsadisaster
Summary: Remember when you loved me? DMHG
Disclaimer: All I own is my procrastinating, lazy, and unpunctual self.
You made up your mind to leave it all behind
Now you're force to fight it out
You fall away from your past
But it's following you
The Fray - Fall Away
A slit of light escapes two nearly closed doors, revealing figures in a passionate embrace. A pale, blonde-haired man with an unidentified curvaceous woman, dancing the intimate dance of lovers, enthusiastic and thunderously loud, grace the scene. The man stands behind the woman, buried deep within her, and she, her hands clawing at the dining room's stone table, searches for a ledge to hold as she loses control.
He slides into her, once more, nearly having a stroke at the feel of absolute warmth. He hears her none-too-silent whimpers of pleasure, feels her legs quiver and her knees ready to give. His face screws itself into a pained expression, though this is the best pain he has felt in quite a while. He thrusts deeper, triggering a catalytic response of moans, waves and waves of warmth, and explosion, in her. He struggles to keep his control but a few strokes later, he screams a name, in delight, an ocean of heat enveloping his essence, and it does not register in his mind that he has made a mistake.
She becomes stiff and he can feel it.
He asks, "What's wrong?" in between fast pants.
"Get off me." She lifts her upper body off the dining room table, wrapping her arms around her exposed breasts, forcing him to evacuate her completely. She scrambles away from him, gathering clothing and rearranging herself to look presentable. He is perplexed, pulling his trousers up, and searches for the shirt that she ripped from his body only minutes before.
"What's bloody wrong with you?"
"This was a mistake, a terrible mistake," she says, now fully dressed and angry. Her eyes are a fiery brown and he feels her gaze burn his skin.
"How can you say that?" he replies, a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Who is Hermione?" she asks him, irritability sketched on her face.
"What?" He wonders how she could possibly even ask that.
"You screamed her name, you bastard. You screamed her name, not mine."
"I did?" Impossible, he thinks.
She pauses, a wondrous expression playing on her face. "Do you even know my name?"
"I—"
She disapparates before he can reply.
"I don't know," he whispers into the air. "I'm sorry."
"Feeling okay, mate?" Potter asks him the next morning.
No, he does not feel okay. He feels like the dust mingled in with the dirt underneath his expensive, authentic leather shoes. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, a nervous tick at the corner of his mouth and the weight of the world on his shoulder, crushing his body and soul. He is depressed and unkept, a poster child for melancholy.
"No," he responds. He shuffles paper around, hoping Potter will drop the subject.
"You don't look it, that's for sure."
"I'm aware of that, Potter."
"I guess that date didn't go very well."
"How'd you know about it? You're not reading my thoughts, right?" he asks the raven-haired former-superhero.
"No. Actually, Hermione saw you out and about, last night. She said you weren't alone, so I assumed."
"Where?"
"She and Ron went to the restaurant you went to, I guess. She told me they arrived as soon as you two disapparated. 'Draco and his date seemed like they were in quite a hurry,' she said."
He smiles a sad smile, saying, "Yeah."
It means nothing, neither a positive nor negative response, but it's good enough because the subject is dropped and the only sound in the office is a shuffling of papers and a droning hum. Draco's sorrow is silent yet it fills the room like a smog of unhappiness, of "let's not talk about it," and of "save me from myself." But the request remains smothered by a stubborn pride and the raven-haired superhero can't save the helpless citizen sitting across from him.
Draco thinks, Even you can't save me, Potter.
Green eyes stare at him and Draco knows Potter read his mind then.
"I can't save those who aren't willing to be saved," Potter says.
Draco doesn't know what to think anymore.
The Malfoy Graveyard, the gates read in Latin. He passes the threshold of the gates and breathes in the scent of secrets, heartache, silent love, promises broken, and death.
He walks among the dead and feels at ease. Here, problems are buried so deep that they should never be able to arise. The green grass and wild flowers hug the tombstones, a tiny irony easily surpassed. The living embrace the dead. He is an irony easily surpassed.
There was no embrace for him, from the living or the dead.
He stops in the shade of a willow tree and falls to his knees. He pulls the leaves apart, reveals two tombstones. In beautiful calligraphy, they read "Lucius Malfoy" and "Narcissus Malfoy."
"Hi father, mother. The prodigal son has returned and he has nothing to survive on, anymore."
The only reply he receives is the cry of the wind.
"It's just like you, to give me the cold shoulder. Everything you ever gave me was cold.Even your love was cold."
Salty, warm tears fall onto the dirt, seeping into the earth and disappearing. They disappear like they never existed, never fell.
"She doesn't remember a thing but I remember everything. She is on my mind like a cancer that hides into remission but reappears when I think I've recovered completely. She's killing me, a little bit more each day. She really has no idea. Her disregard is like a spell that's recast, over and over again, and the pain grows stronger the weaker I get."
The wind hugs him, with a frosty warmth, and tells him it's never going to be completely okay.
The wind shakes the willow tree and a parade of green falls on him. In the sea of green, he picks out a white flower, something extraordinary. He's tempted to smell it but he think he's already too much of a sap and crushes the piece of beauty.
"I'm sorry," a voice from behind says. Startled, he gets off his knees and faces the intruder.
A vision in white, passionate brown eyes and white flowers in her hands.
The symbol of purity and pain, the apple of his eye and the arrow piercing his heart, and the one he lost twice.
He can barely breath, at this climatic moment.
She smiles and replies, "Hello, Draco."
The wind passes by him, whispering in his ears, I lied.
He smiles too.
"Hello, Hermione."
Thanks for reading, my lovely! Please review, as well! MWAUHS!
Neurotically yours,
Tinsadisaster