Yellow Means Sorry

A/N: In the olden days (yes, olden) yellow roses were associated with sorrow and loss of love. I realise that this is different now, but I chose to go by my research. Yellow is sorrow. Thanks!

***

It's been two years, three months, and six days since you went away.

I miss you, but I come here everyday and lay a yellow rose on your grave.

I've always been fascinated by the fact that roses, by their colours, can mean a variety of different emotions. Like white means innocence, yellow sorrow, and red means love.

I told you that, once, on that night before you died. Do you remember, Harry?

And ever since, I've laid a yellow rose on your grave each day, you know what it means.

I'm sorry.

You were the Boy Who Lived.

I was the Boy Who Lived to Love You.

They took you away the next day, the day after we found each other. It was too soon, and I didn't get to spend my life with you.

I only got to spend one night with you.

Sometimes I wonder why you were given to me and then taken away just as quickly. I didn't get a chance to do all of the things with you that I wanted to. Kiss you when we graduated, grow up with you, grow old with you.

It seems like a curse. To only get that one night and nothing more. Forever.

But even still, I wouldn't trade that night for the world, the sun, moon or stars.

It's better to have loved and lost, they say, than never to have loved at all.

Even if you were ripped away so soon, I'll forever be happy knowing what it felt like to hold you, to kiss you, to make love to you. Just once.

I remember that night, so long ago yet only yesterday in my mind.

It was snowing, and it was the first night of Christmas Holiday. I was one of the only students still remaining at Hogwarts.

You were too.

I was running around outside on the grounds of Hogwarts, indulging my inner child and catching snowflakes on my tongue.

And then I ran blindly into you. You fell into a rose bush, mostly dead due to the fact that it was so late in the year. I fell on top of you, and when I finally caught my breath was when I noticed it was you.

Once the shock of being thrown to the ground wore off, realization played in your emerald eyes. You didn't sneer, or glare. You laughed.

I stood and brushed off my trousers, and looked at you, lying there in a dead rose bush. Laughing. The snow fell around us, making it seem hazy, surreal like that of a dream.

"Sorry, Harry," I mumbled, a pink blush creeping into my face. And then I noticed that the dead rose bush had one red rose still alive. How on earth? I wondered. It was way past the time for roses to be alive. But that's why they call magic magic, I guess.

I knelt down to inspect the rose, and you, you looked at me with a smile on your face.

"I'm not," you replied.

"Huh?" I asked, looking up distractedly, "not what?"

"I'm not sorry, Draco," you answered, and then you reached out and took my arm, and pulled me towards you.

The snow swirling and the heat from your body made everything seem so blurry, so perfect.

We had called a truce in the year before, realising that hating each other took too much energy.

I guess once we stopped wasting energy hating we started using that energy to feel something else.

"Love," I murmured, as you kissed me.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Red roses mean love," I whispered, glancing down at the single red rose. "All colours have a meaning, especially with roses. Yellow means sorrow and red, red is love."

"How ironic, that you knock me off my feet, literally, and figuratively, onto a red rose bush," you replied.

"Ironic?" I asked, my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yes, because I love you. I have for so long, Draco."

And then I kissed you. And we spent the night together. It was nothing short of ecstasy, feeling your arms around me, you lips on mine. I'll never forget how it felt to make love to you.

And in the morning, we parted with a kiss, and before you turned the corner, the last time I was to see you alive, I took your hand and smiled.

"I love you back, Harry," I said. It didn't even feel strange saying it. It just felt right. The truth.

And that was it. The attack was sudden and before I ever got to see you again, hold you again, kiss you again, you were gone. They took you from me, from everyone.

You died a hero, a martyr.

I died inside.

And so now here I am, sitting on your grave and holding a yellow rose.

It's been two years, three months, and six days since you went away.

And as I lay this rose on your grave, like every day before today, I whisper that same words that I always do.

"I'm sorry, Harry," and tears come to my eyes," for not saving you, for not finding you in time. For not suffering my own death instead. So, so sorry."

And then I can hear your voice, laughing just like that night. And your words are clear in my ear, around me, everywhere.

"I'm not sorry, Draco."

And, the brief sensation of a kiss on my lips is enough to make my hand dart to my mouth. A ghostly feeling fleeting on my lips, your lips on mine. And I still love you so much.

From now on, I will bring a red rose to your grave.

Every single day.

Until I go away, too.