Time Cannot Erase

Time Cannot Erase

Chapter 3: by Karen Ilus

(Draco's POV)

Typically the weekend begins with empty streets and late mornings. The small city relaxes, letting go of the workweek stresses. Weekend sounds gradually replace the sleepy silence. Music from the upstairs neighbour makes its way down to my flat. A knot forms in my throat because it's like the music he used to listen to. Loud and jarring, more noise than rhythm. "It's punk rock," he would say with a roll of his eyes and a grin. "And, really, it's sad how you don't appreciate good music."

I roll over onto my back and think. Loud music that lingers in your ear and thrums in your blood. It was like an extension of Harry himself.

Whenever Harry was around I was subjected to it. During brief respites from the war I'd return to the shoddy rooms we called home and listen for his music. My heart would leap when I heard it coming from our floor because it meant that Harry was there to welcome me. Sometimes we even had a full weekd. Those were rare and treasured because that was as close as we could get to the feeling we had in our last years at Hogwarts.

Relaxed, teasing, and together.

Those weekends meant velvety warmth. I'd sleep until late, spooned or spooning his familiar body. Sometimes, we would wake up early and remain buried under tangled blankets, sharing our thoughts, trading humourous insults and rediscovering our hopes.

Everything was easier then. Now each breath takes conscious effort.

The smells and sounds from the past are here in the present. They surround me, paralyze me with their false promises of home comforts, and leave me lonelier than I was before.

Bile rises in the back of my throat and I force it down as I get out of bed and concentrate on routine. Enter bathroom, let the tap run, return to the bedroom and make the bed, then go back and shower. I try not to brood but under the water's spray, when I close my eyes; I see what I usually see. Endless green.

Every single fucking day of my life, I *miss* him.

That green used to welcome me. Welcomed me with affection, with smiles, with anger, with understanding.

Now all it does is haunt me, and accuse me, and hurt me the way the sharp blade of a knife hurts when cutting methodically through thin layers of sensitive skin.

I try to block out the memory of those eyes and that face like I did back when it mattered. Those war days spent in seclusion were as long as they were lonely. Utter boredom interspersed by sheer terror. Each day I fulfilled duties that I took upon mysf and not because I gave a damn about Muggles or the welfare of the Wizarding World but because it affected Harry and all I wanted was Harry. But when it was too much, I shut my eyes and blocked everything out. Discarded him and everything so I wouldn't blow apart at the seams.

I thought that if I managed to survive, sane and intact, I could ask for forgiveness, that I was doing it for him, that I'd make it up to him tenfold. Then we'd resume what we had. But when I looked up, Harry hated me for what I did. After that, he fucked dozens of nameless girls and boys and threw everyone in my face.

I hate him.

Mistakes were made and we live with the consequences. I fought on because I had nothing else. Then, nightmares became reality and I ran from the Wizarding World. Now, I live as a shadow. I thrive on meaningless routine. Get out of the shower, make breakfast because it's Saturday, sort my clothes because it's laundry day and most difficult of all...keep breathing in... and keep breathing out.

I put on my Muggle clothes, head out the door with my bag of laundry. I continue to play pretend.