And Then You Were Gone

You could be happy and I won't know

But you weren't happy the day I watched you go

And all the things that I wish I had not said

Are played on loops 'till it's madness in my head

He didn't know what had gotten him to think of her this time. He had thrown away everything that reminded him of her. Burned all the sweaters she had borrowed, even though the smell of her was long gone when he finally managed to do it. He had thrown out the plush stuffed dragon she had given him for Christmas, and he had gotten rid of the bra she had once left when having to rush out after falling asleep in his bed the night before. The sheets they had used together had been switched out. The pictures of her were hidden by his house elves, along with the letters that documented the start of their time together. He had done his best to rid his mind of her, to let her go.

He didn't know what had spurred it this time. Perhaps it was the fact that his accountant had been wearing a shirt in the same horrible yellow-green colour as the sweater she had refused to give up. Perhaps it was the fact that Potter's team had won again, and his face was now smeared across the papers with him holding that damned Snitch. Perhaps it was merely the fact that he was drinking coffee, something he knew she didn't like him doing.

"It stains your teeth," she had said, trying to appeal to his vain nature. He had smiled at her with one of his eyebrows cocked, and then took another sip.

"Fine, I don't like the taste," she said sulking. "Take one more sip and I won't kiss you!"

He had taken another sip, and she had kissed him anyway. Had he thought she meant it he would have given up coffee forever.

Is it too late to remind you what we were?

And not our last days of silent screaming blur

The first time he had seduced her he had seen her as a challenge. He was finally free, free from the war, free from his father, free from Voldemort, free from the worry, accusation and guilt he had endured during the last months of the war. What better way to celebrate than to do something that would have enraged his father, what more symbolic act of freedom than to bed the youngest, beautiful Weasley?

She had been just one among many conquests of his, but something had made her special. She had followed him home willingly; intoxicated by the overflow of alcohol they had been served at the club. Still she did not seem to sell her soul to him as the other girls did, in a weird way he felt special to be allowed to come close to her. As he had walked her out of his home the next day he had asked her if she would have dinner with him. She had smiled amused, but declined politely.

"It's a one night thing, Malfoy," she had said, a comment that only deepened his interest in her.

He decided he had to have her. After charming her for weeks she had finally given in, and it only progressed from there. Finally it had ended up in the dangerous state where they both had started envisioning their lives together.

She had taken him to Muggle movies, and made him delicious food that her mother had taught her to make. He had taken her to fancy restaurants and bought her expensive jewellery. They had drunk together and she had always insisted on starting off with the old familiar butterbeer. After a few of those she would allow him to mix her one of his drinks. She would say she enjoyed it, more or less convincingly, and tease him when his pride was hurt if he didn't think she liked it. If she was lying her eyes would always go to the floor before looking at him, if she was telling the truth she would look him straight in the eye from the start. He had noticed even those small details about her. How she would twirl her hair around her finger when she was lost in thought, or how her eyes lit up when he gave her heartfelt compliments. And because he got to know her so well, he had let her get to know him. No one knew him as well as she did.

Most of what I remember makes me sure

I should have stopped you from walking out that door

He left Potter's smiling face and went to his bedroom, sinking down on the mattress they had shared so many times.

"You're always poised, aren't you?" she had said, twiddling with her hair. "Even when you throw yourself on a bed you manage to end up in a position that would give a perfect cover shot in some fashion magazine."

He was glad she couldn't see him now, lying with his arms down his side, staring at the roof of his bed.

You could be happy. I hope you are

You made me happier than I'd been by far

Perhaps she was with Potter. Perhaps she was happy with Potter. He hoped she was happy, yet he still couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy as he envisioned her in the arms of another man. She had always liked Potter, even before they had started their relationship. They had a history together. He hoped she was happy no matter whose arms she was in. He hoped even more that she was happy without any arms to hold her. Just for now, anyway. He wanted her to be happy in the big warm home full of children that she had always wanted, but right now he wanted to think she was thinking of him, too, without someone else there to distract her.

Somehow everything I own smells of you

For the tiniest moment it's all not true

He closed his eyes. If he concentrated he could almost smell her. She smelled of flowers and sunshine and sweets. Her scent spoke of happiness and laughter and dreams unbroken. It spoke of late nights in warm embraces and rainy days curled up in front of the fireplace.

He drew his breath sharp, only to find the spell broken. No smell of her lingered.

He looked over to her side of the bed, the one he never slept on any more. The sheets were fresh, and strands of her burning hair didn't lie scattered over his pillow.

"You're driving my house elves insane," he had said, picking off a long red strand.

She had laughed and bent over to ruffle her hair over his bed, sending even more red hairs flying.

"It's good for them," she said smiling. "Make them work for their nonexistent pay!"

He had laughed like only she could make him do, and pulled her onto his lap, burying his head in the nape of her neck and drawing in the smell of her. That smell would never again linger on his sheets. Never again would he put on a sweater she had used just to find himself surrounded by her. He would not ever again wake up to see her curled up by his desk with one of his shirts on flipping through pictures of the two of them. Coming home from work he could never again expect to find her already there, reading on his sofa or making bread in his kitchen. She would never tease him again by messing up his hair, and he would never again hear her frantic laughter as he tickled her ruthlessly.

And that, he reminded himself, was his own choice.

His thoughts turned to the last night he had with her, as they always did when he thought of her. It was the most painful memory he had.

"What's happening with you lately?" she had shouted at him, her eyes blazing.

It had pained him to see her angry and hurt, and he wanted desperately to tell her that he was sorry, that everything was going to be okay and that he didn't mean anything he had said. Instead he kept his cool and forced himself to sigh impatiently at her words.

"I'm merely saying it won't look very good," he said forcing his eyes to stay calm and icy. "A Weasley and a Malfoy together? People wouldn't react well."

Her face revealed that she was starting to understand where he was going and he could see how much it hurt her. He watched as she pulled herself together.

"Are you saying you would be embarrassed to be seen with me?" she asked dangerously, yet still struggling to keep her tone light

"No, of course not," he said making it sound less true than it really was. "But I can't be seen at this ball with a Weasley. It's not you; it's your family name. I'm a Malfoy; I can't dishonour my family just for you."

He saw the effect his words had on her and it killed him. Her big brown eyes were first blazing with anger, and then filled with tears. She blinked trying to prevent the tears from flowing. He expected her to shout at him, but instead she rose from the bed and gathered her clothes. He had suddenly regretted his decision, and before he could stop himself he had pleaded, "Don't go."

She turned around, hope visible on her face. He cursed his feelings and dreaded what he had to do.

"We have a good thing here," he said. "Can't we just leave it like this?" His heart had been beating hard in his chest, aching with each heartbeat, but he still kept cool and relaxed outwardly.

"Can't we just keep each other happy until we find someone real?" he asked, going in for the kill.

He saw her eyes widen in shock at his comment. He couldn't imagine his life with anyone else, and he didn't think she had entertained the idea of finding someone else either. Still he knew she couldn't stay with him. It would ruin her life to stay with him. They had even discussed it a few weeks earlier.

"I'll keep you down," he had said, playing with her dazzling red hair that was spread all over his pillow. "You can't do any of the things you've wanted. All the things you've dreamed about will be further out of reach the longer you stay with me."

"I don't care," she had said gently. "The only thing I dream about now is you. You are my new dream, the only important one. I don't mind giving up the rest."

He had known she had meant it, which worried him even more. The hardest decision he had ever had to make was made in that moment. He knew he had to break it off, and he had to do it so brutally that she would never find her way back to him. Fortunately for him, no one knew how to be harsh and heartless like he did. The result of slowly easing back into his cocky, brutal, cold mask was before him right then, her eyes finally spilling over with tears.

"So that's all I am to you?" she spat. "Your amusement? Your whore when you don't have anyone more proper to amuse yourself with?"

"Now, Ginny," he said in an overbearing tone, and as he had predicted this pushed her over the edge.

She threw one shoe at him and then the other, and he caught them both in what he hoped seemed like lazy movements. His hands were beginning to tremble, and he didn't know how long he could keep his act up. Fortunately it didn't last much longer. Ginny had made her way, messily dressed, over to the door. She didn't bother to get her shoes back from him, just tore open the door.

"Goodbye, Malfoy," she had said, tears streaming down her face. Shoeless she stormed out and away from him. It was the last time he had seen her.

Do the things that you always wanted to

Without me there to hold you back; don't think, just do

The first few months he would turn anytime the colour red caught his eye. He fought so hard not to go back to her and beg for her forgiveness. His bed felt empty and cold when he woke every morning without her there. He hated it.

He had other girls after her. He tried to comfort himself with one girl after the other, but waking up with them was waking up with a stranger. He didn't think twice about them after either leaving them in their bed in the early hours of the morning, or coldly escorting them to his door with no promise of a next date.

He placed the shoes she had left that final night with his own by the main entrance, as if she was still there in his house somewhere, hiding in his closet waiting to surprise him. When no red haired girl jumped out at him, he finally gave them away to charity, unable to bear the reminder of his last moments with her.

He hoped she was happy. He hoped she was fulfilling her dreams now that she didn't have him pulling her down. He hoped she filled her life with joy and laughter, like she for a short time had filled his life with joy and laughter. And he hoped she sometimes thought of him fondly. He hoped she remembered him as he was before those dreadful last days. He hoped she could think of the two of them with a smile on her face.

More than anything I want to see you girl

Take a glorious bite out of the whole world

He turned to the doorway, only to see long red hair flowing in the breeze.

"I miss you," he said.