Crimson and White

Crimson and White

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"When I was fifteen, I found out my grandmother was dying. I went to visit her and she told me she was dying of a broken heart. I didn't believe her. That only happened in fairytales and those tasteless, awful looking, Muggle romance novels Granger reads. For such a clever girl, she really does have a terrible predilection for bad literature. Anyway, my grandmother assured me you could die of a broken heart. I was more than confused. After all, how could she die of a broken heart; she and my grandfather were still happily married. Then she told me it was an arranged marriage. Then I remembered the funeral she attended a few months previously. She had been upset, overly upset I thought, considering it was just a man she had been to school with. It all clicked and when she realised I had worked it out without her having to explain, she made me swear I would keep my mouth shut. She was my grandmother and she was on her deathbed; I could hardly break a promise made there. I do have morals, despite certain evidence to the contrary. You knew I was decent, though, didn't you, love? You knew I was a decent person and you even managed to convince others I was too. I take my hat off to you, Harry, I really do.

"Back to the story. Deciding to humour my grandmother, I asked her how she knew that was what was killing her. She told me it was one of those things you just knew. She told me she wished I never had to experience the feeling. Her wishes didn't do any good. Three days after I spoke to her, she died. Two weeks after that, I asked you to give me another chance. Ten months after that, you made love to me. Three and a half years after that, I started to feel what my grandmother felt. It was instantaneous; an immediate reaction once I saw you fall to the ground. I didn't run to you. I didn't scream. I didn't beg for someone to help you. I knew you were dead. I could feel it. My ribcage tightened up, squeezing my lungs and my heart together and I fell to my knees. Weasley and Granger ran to you. Weasley and Granger screamed. Weasley and Granger begged for someone to help. They knew you were dead but they wouldn't accept it like I did. Then Weasley looked at me and he was shooting hatred at me with his eyes. He thought this was proof that I didn't really love you; he didn't realise it was proof of the opposite. If I loved you less than I did, I don't think I could have known, just like that, you were truly dead. Maybe that doesn't make sense; I don't know or care. I didn't cry until the funeral, three weeks ago. I broke down, good and proper in every way a Malfoy shouldn't. A day hasn't gone by where I haven't cried since then. I don't know how my tear ducts manage it, really. Weasley won't talk to me... or about me... or even acknowledge I still exist. Granger tries to help me and I shrug her off and tell her I'll cope with it on my own. She always does this all-suffering sigh. Did she do that to you? I can't stand it. I think she knows I'm not coping. It's not that hard to work out for anyone who saw me at the funeral. On my knees, clawing at the ground, at your coffin, at the people who tried to help me up or put their arms around me. On my hands and knees, screaming for you, screaming at you, screaming at everyone, screaming in general. I was and still am a mess.

"You left me. I don't care if you saved the rest of the world. You left me and I'm alone. You were all I had. Everyone else tolerated me because you loved me and now they couldn't give a toss. I wonder if they'll give a toss when they find me tomorrow. You heard me; when they find me tomorrow. When they find my body, rather. You never told me to carry on living if you died. Thank you. If you had ever said that to me, I would have trouble doing what I'm about to do. You always said if you died, it was up to me whether I carried on or not because you knew you probably wouldn't be able to if I died. You never did like being a hypocrite. So I hope you don't mind me joining you now. It's a good job we know what the afterlife's all about. I don't have any regrets, which means I shouldn't become a ghost. You didn't become a ghost and you always said you had no regrets. Will you be waiting for me? Or do I have to come and find you? I wonder how much this will hurt. The knife is very sharp so I hope it won't hurt too much. I left a note in my pocket. It says why I died and it says to bury me next to you. I thought we'd both want that, not just me.

"I'm weak, aren't I? I know I'm weak. I'm weak because I know I'm dying of a broken heart and I'm cutting my life short anyway. I'm dying without any intervention but I'm still going to kill myself. It's not my fault. I just can't take the pain. Dying of a broken heart is not a nice way to go. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second... the pain gets worse all the time. And so, I took the knife; you know what one. You said I was the reason you stopped using it. I'm glad for that. I'm glad I actually managed to do something for you after everything you did for me.

"I hope I don't run into my grandmother's spirit on my way to you. She'll be awfully smug. 'You didn't believe you could die of a broken heart, did you, Draco? Now look at you. You're dead.' That's what she'll say. You'll help me if she finds me, won't you, darling?

"Did you know they put a bush of white roses on your grave? You told everyone your favourite flower was the white rose but it wasn't. Your favourite flower was the red rose and you didn't want anyone to think you were clichéd. You explained it to me, though; you didn't like red roses, you liked crimson roses. The roses that looked black at a certain angle and had petals like velvet. I tried to tell them you didn't like white roses as much as they thought but they didn't listen to me. I told them you liked crimson roses and they just didn't listen. Even so, I promise not to taint the white roses with my blood. I'll keep the petals clean, don't worry. You liked flawless petals and I intend to keep them that way.

"I don't know why I decided to do this tonight. It's only a coincidence that it's a month to the day you died. I had the intention to do it before I came outside. This is very well planned. I come out here every evening even when I've already been to see you during the day. But today I ran outside; I ran up the hill and every ascending step took me a little bit closer to the top of the hill where you're buried. I fell onto my knees and I dug both hands into the soil on top of your grave. I felt like I was trying to reach you. At that moment, I thought I'd gone mad and thought I shouldn't give up just because the only person I ever loved like this was dead. But then I realised I went mad the moment you died and I had every right to give up. I'm not being selfish. I'm not leaving anyone behind. I have to do this. I know I can't carry on. People will think me a coward but I'm quite sure I won't care.

"I suppose I should get started. It's funny how you used to come and sit next to me while I was doing something and ask me to talk you through every step. If I was making a potion, you'd sit next to me and ask me to tell you how I prepared every separate ingredient and tell you how I added them. You even asked how I stirred the potion. Do you want me to talk you through my suicide? You know I have a penchant for the dramatic. I'm taking a potion first. It speeds up the process of the bleeding but helps me stay conscious until the very last moment. Oh, that tasted foul. I have to wait a couple of minutes now while it works around my body.

"I don't know why it's popped into my head but do you know how you made me feel each and every time we made love? You made me feel wanted and needed. You made me feel like I was both the protector and the protected. You made me feel cherished and you made me feel like there wasn't a single thing wrong with me. Sometimes you did all that just through a kiss or even a look but it was every time when we made love. We always took our time and we were always gentle to one another. You said there were enough things you had to do fast and rough in life; you didn't need fast and rough in your bed. I knew what you meant and I agreed. We wasted so much time and spent so much time fighting. My goodness, we were fools.

"You know, there's too much to say to you before I die. I think I'm going to leave some of it. After all, I'm going to see you soon. I know that. We made sure with that ritual we did. There's no heaven and no hell so there's no worry we won't be able to find each other. There's no worry one will be above when the other is below. I've waited long enough now.

"Oh! It did hurt. Not as much as I thought. Sharpening the knife must have paid off. I feel dizzy. Already. The potion certainly does work. I've only done one wrist and I'm already falling to the ground. Why am I laughing, Harry? Dizzy and giddy seem to go together. I don't think I need to bother doing the other wrist. One alone seems to be working quite well. I really do love you, Harry, and I know I didn't say it very often. I feel like I weigh the same as the rose petals that scatter your grave. I'm so in love with you. I didn't know how to show it most of the time but you always managed to know when I was trying to and it made me love you even more. Oh, I think I'm going to go soon. Everything's hazy, love. I think I'll close my eyes."

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When Hermione was on her way to visit Harry's grave the next morning, she could see Draco Malfoy atop it. He looked peaceful and Hermione wondered if he'd fallen asleep while he visited Harry. Then she saw how the soil was saturated with something; something dark. Then she saw Draco's wrist and she screamed. She ran to him. She begged someone to help. She thought the roses were crimson from the blood in her shocked state but when it started to rain and they remained crimson she really did start to wonder. She started to wonder about how well Draco really did know Harry and because she didn't know either of them as well as she had believed, she thought, Red roses.

- fin -

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