"The thing about pain is that it's supposed to hurt," Draco Malfoy mused drunkenly as he held up a shard of glass in front of his face. He sat in his room, surrounded by pieces of his favorite belongings. A broken mirror lay before him, scattered with drops of his own blood, and he wondered briefly how it had gotten there. Blurred, slightly familiar images shot through his mind at this thought and he shook his head violently, as if shaking the memory from his brain.
It wouldn't budge, however, and his fevered mind started replaying the same moments that had made him destroy half of his room. He immediately slammed his eyes shut, hoping in vain that it would keep him from remembering.
He stared down at the fancy invitation in his hand, blood pounding in his ears. It declared the wedding of Ginevra Molly Weasley to Harry James Potter in elegant calligraphy, edged with delicate lace.
That was the last thing he remembered. The rest of the night had been a whirlwind of powdered glass, ripped sheets, spilled ink, and alcohol. He wasn't quite sure whether the drinking had started before the devastation, or whether he'd smashed every breakable thing in the room and then turned to the bottle of firewhiskey that he had been saving for a special occasion. "It certainly is a special occasion now,"he said out loud to the empty room. The silence answered him, and he hastily gulped down the last of the firewhiskey before throwing the bottle into the nearest wall. As the glass shattered and pieces chipped emerald paint off the wall, Draco thought it was quite a shame that no amount of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey could burn away the coldness he felt inside.
He awoke to pain. Sharp, intense pain, but still far more welcome than the emotionless void he had felt yesterday. As he slowly sat up, Draco noticed he was clutching what appeared to be a broken hand mirror, which seemed to be the cause of the blood dripping down his palm. He stopped and gazed contemplatively at the sliver of glass embedded in his hand. It took a while before he realized that he had to take out the glass before it got infected. He was reluctant to do so, as he was using the physical pain to distract himself from thinking about her, about anything, at all. Draco Malfoy was toeing the line of insanity and with every passing moment, the other side of the line seemed to become more and more attractive to him. Right when he finally decided to yank it out, there came a harsh, insistent knock on his door. Draco didn't bother answering, however, since he was busy brooding over how to remove the glass splinters from his flesh. Therefore, it came as a shock to him when a certain dark-skinned wizard burst into his room and took in the mess with a raised eyebrow.
"Zabini," drawled Malfoy as he attempted to put on an air of indifference. "You caught me in the middle of redecorating my room. Would you like to help me choose where to place this mirror?" as he raised his right hand, the glass from the hand mirror still embedded in his palm.
"Malfoy," Zabini returned with a look of utter amazement. "Really decided to go all the way and break that blasted enchanted mirror, have you? I assumed that the invitation—"
Draco's countenance darkened instantly and made to stand up, but felt his legs give out almost immediately and sat back down. Blaise sighed despondently and turned away from Draco. He had known what the reaction would be once his pale-haired friend saw the invitation. He didn't know what had gotten into Potter to send the damned thing at all, but vowed to find out as soon as possible. Taking in the destruction around the room once more, he cast Draco a furtive glance. Even though the platinum blonde had insisted that there was nothing between him and Ginevra Weasley, that he never wanted to see the bint ever again, the dark-skinned wizard knew better. He didn't have the heart to berate Draco again, however, and settled for drawing his wand and magically repairing the damaged walls and splintered furniture in the room. He finally sighed and left Draco with the shards of the enchanted mirror before him and made to leave, but he couldn't go without a last parting sentence: "You can't possibly be over her if you hung on to her mirror, after all this time."
As the bang of the slammed door echoed hollowly around the room, Draco sat and stared at the wall where the mirror had used to hang. Her mirror. The one she had charmed so whenever they were apart, they could – but no. He couldn't think about her. Draco shook his head once more at the painful memories that threatened to overpower him, and then groaned, clutching his head as a sudden, piercing pain shot through it.
"A half of a whole," she had called it, smiling up at him through lowered eyelashes. "So when you're gone, away from me, you won't be able to forget me, right?"
"Right," Draco murmured to the phantom girl with fiery hair, trapped inside his memories. "But what was going to keep you from forgetting me?" He raised a trembling hand to catch a trailing curl like he had done so many times before, but right when he reached out; she disappeared, leaving only mocking laughter in her wake.