Oublier l'Amour

He is tossing clothes into his luggage, silently, angrily. She sits, silent, still as a stone, on the foot of his bed, every movement of his arm causing her to rise and then fall. Just as she can feel her heart falling, falling, falling, settling somewhere deep inside her stomach and making her breakfast threaten to come back up her throat.

"Draco," she says finally, and her voice is weak, raspy, as if it has not been used for years. She clears her throat and tries again. "Draco, what's going on?"

He doesn't answer, doesn't look at her, and her eyes begin to sting.

"Draco, you promised - "

Promised what? The unsaid words hang in the air, thick, suffocating. He never promised to stay, and that's what matters now.

She tries a different tack. "Do you remember, do you remember the first time?"

His scowl softens a bit, his eyes glazing over as he lets the memory wash over him. It had been cloudy, overcast, and dreary. He had screamed at her, screamed that she meant nothing, she was just another trophy, another souvenir to take home. She had said, softly, that he was lying, he loved her. He had flinched at the word. But then she had whispered, no louder than the wind, that she loved him, and that was more important.

He had tried to scream at her again, then, but his words had lost the edge. He told her she didn't even know him, didn't know the things he had seen and done and planned. He wasn't going to be around much longer, and he would forget her, and he needed her to forget him.

She had begun to cry, but instead of running, she had pulled him to her, her breath sweet on his cheek.

I won't let you forget me, she had said, their lips brushing with every word.

And there, as it began first to drizzle and then to pour, they had made love. She had traced a heart on his chest with her finger, and written their names inside. He had felt it, like fire, emblazoned on his skin. And when he had reached up to brush her hair away from her face, she had seen it. The Mark, black as ash against his ivory skin. And suddenly, devastatingly, she had understood.

He nods and throws the last piece of clothing inside. "I remember."

He drops down to sit in front of her, beneath her, on his knees. As if he is pleading or worshiping at her feet. And in some way, he is.

"I don't want to go," he says finally, all humor and bravado gone.

"Then don't." Her answer is simple, just as everything in her life is simple. Everything but him.

"I have to."

She nods, and he sighs, and they stare at the same spot on the floor. Her wondering what exactly he is leaving to do, him wondering if she will fall into Potter's arms as soon as he is gone. If she will get married, and be happy, and have beautiful children that will be born with green eyes instead of stormy grey.

He kisses her hand, and then up farther, farther, until his mouth meets hers in a gentle frenzy. Clothes are peeled away carefully, slowly, like old skins, and he takes in every inch of her flesh with his eyes, mouth, and fingertips. Memorizing it like a map one needs before a long journey.

When it is over, she is crying. No noise, no whimpers or sighs, but he tastes the salt as he kisses the shape of a star onto her face. First her forehead, then cheeks, then the corners of her mouth.

She clings to his forearm as he rises, but he pulls away. Gently, but it breaks her heart all the same.

He pulls on his clothes and stands in front of the bed, hesitating, wanting to say something but finding himself bereft of words. She is watching him, brown eyes unwavering, tears moving down her cheeks as she clenches her jaw.

"I'll come back for you," he says finally, and opens the door.

She doesn't say anything because she knows he's lying.

~*~fin~*~