Memories

Memories


Memories, my memories
How long can you stay
To haunt my days

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor can never be together, right? It's against the rules.

Rules are made to be broken, Potter.

They are coming now, the memories. At day I can usually shut them out, with everything to do for the Order. But at night... At night while I'm lying in my bed, trying for the sleep to come... They are coming, a black darkness that's going to swallow me whole. Your smile. God, Harry, your smile... It started in the eyes, a bright light in those wonderful green eyes of yours when you looked at me, and then the smile would reach your mouth and you'd kiss me so deep that my knees would begin to shake and I almost thought that I was dreaming - because how could something so wonderful be real? But it was real. It was.
Oh God, it hurts. I didn't know I could feel pain like this. I know what you said after our first kiss, I remember it so well...

We stood silent in the deserted hallway when you looked me in the eyes and said, "You do know that this isn't going to work, Malfoy? A Slytherin and a Gryffindor can never be together, right? It's against the rules." And I said, "Rules are made to be broken, Potter."
And you smiled and kissed me, and there was a feeling I've never felt before, like a fire inside of me, and I remember thinking and promising to myself that I wasn't going to love you, because it would hurt so much if you disappeared. So you disappeared, you died. And it did hurt. It hurts so damn much. That feeling, that wonderful feeling is gone, only pain left. The fire that burned has turned to ice.

Hell, the others didn't even know. Nobody did. hey wouldn't understand, anyway. But it hurts me so fucking much to see them cry over you, and to know that I can't be a part of it. That I'm never going to be a part of it, ever. I can't even cry. I wish I could, because maybe it would ease the pain a bit, but I can't. The tears won't come; it's just that fucking pain in my chest that won't go away. Sometimes it just makes me so angry, that I was the one who was left behind. At certain moments I just feel like beating my fist against the wall and screaming. I did it once; I took a deep breath and slammed my fist against the wall as hard as I could. It didn't help at all; I just ended up in the hospital wing with a broken fist and headache.

I remember your surprise when I started working for the Order. I was on the dark side before, just like my father. I hadn't planned on betraying my family to the Order of the Phoenix, but I remember the exact moment when I made the decision. I was home for Christmas that year. It was at night and I couldn't sleep so I went up to get a glass of water. I was just on my way back to my room when I heard a soft sound, like someone crying from the room I had just passed. I went back, cracked the door open and there was my mother on the floor, blood dripping from her nose and lips. She was crying. My father stood bent over her, his face like a hard mask of anger. He kicked her, once, twice. I wanted to do something but I couldn't move. Instead I closed the door and walked back to my room. Shadows played in the darkened hallway. Outwards I was the same, but something had changed deep inside of me. I had always known that my father beat my mother, but this was different. The look on her face when my father's foot came crashing down on her stomach had made something snap inside of me. From that day I was on the other side. But I never told my father. And I never told anyone what I saw.

I remember so much, so much that I don't want to. I remember the way you smelled in the morning, that wonderful smell that was you, the way only Harry Potter smelled. I remember every one of those mornings, when I would try to wake you by pulling the blankets off of your body, take your pillow and shake you. God, Harry, a train could run over you in the morning and you wouldn't notice. I always tried to wake you early, even though I knew it was useless. In the end, it became sort of a ritual. But I loved it, just as I loved everything about you. I remember always saying to you that Voldemort better not attack you before eleven am because you wouldn't have a chance. You always laughed at that.

And I remember your hair. Your messy, black hair. How many times did I run my fingers through it? You didn't care what you put in your hair as long as it didn't make you bold. Sometimes I bought you expensive hair products, trying to make you look a bit more decent, but you always mixed up the bottles and in the end it came out looking just the same. Or on some occasions, even worse.

I remember one time, we were sitting by the Quidditch pitch, it was late, and the sun had gone down long ago. You always loved the Quidditch pitch at night; we often sat there in silence, just watching the stars and breathing the cool night air. It was right after Remus Lupin had been murdered, and the whole school was still in shock. We had been sitting in silence for about half an hour, when you suddenly turned to me and said:

"Draco. If anything happens to me... Then you have to move on, you have to let go. Promise me that?"

I didn't answer.

"Look, I don't say that something will happen, but if..." And then you sighed. I could see you having trouble getting the words right. You were never very good at expressing your feelings. "If something happens, then you have to go on. I couldn't stand if you didn't. So... promise?"

I remember looking the other way so you wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. I remember not wanting to answer so you wouldn't notice that my voice was thick from holding back those tears. You grabbed me by the chin, turning my head and forcing me to look at you.

"Promise me, Draco."

I promised. Both of us knew that I was lying.

So it happened and I didn't go on. Dammit, Harry, how could you ever think that I could go on without you? I can't let go. I will never be able to let go. How could I even try to let go, with all those damn memories that are haunting me? You would have thought that life would go on. But it doesn't. I'm never letting go.

Don't you get it, Harry? There will never be anyone else but you. Ever.