Diseased

===

When I have the chance I want to say to you

Wishing I could take back what I put you through

I'll never do it again

We're like oil and water, still we somehow mix

And what used to be broken is somehow fixed

It's hard to explain

I know some people say

That opposites attract

If that's the truth then we

We will be together forever

~ All I Can Do by Jump 5

===

Cancer

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. Since when have I been perfect? I was never perfect, always tripping over my two left feet, spilling my inkwells, or tucking my 60% History of Magic test paper away in my bag. History of Magic was always my worst subject, partially because, if you concentrate hard enough, Professor Binns voice can be become very soothing, and partially because I had always found muggle history more exciting. Did you know, Malfoy, that if we were as advanced as the ancient Egyptians or the ancient Greeks, we wizards would have already found a way to cure the incurable disease, death?

But of course you didn't know that. Nor do you really care, right Malfoy? Never did then, never would now. But think of it, if we could have found a way to cure death, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be a ghost, a spirit, a drifting angel. I wouldn't be stuck here, talking in this young sapling above my gravestone.

I could have been at Hogwarts, finishing up my education. Maybe even finishing my book The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe for the fifth time. Yes, it was The Chronicles of Narnia I read, which annoyed you to no end, along with The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, Pride and Prejudice, A Tale of Two Cities, and The Odyssey. These books were all classic muggle fiction I had snuck into Hogwarts for pleasure reading over the years, then donated to Madam Pince so that she could use them for later reading. Maybe someday, they'll be in the school library, with nameplates inserted in the front cover that reads my name, Virginia Weasley. If it hasn't been destroyed yet.

You were alone at Hogwarts, I saw. You smirked and talked, but your words were empty and you were empty. I saw you just as I saw everyone, for what they were inside. You probably didn't see me, I watched. I was the observer. I was the impartial party, neutral in everything. I neither judged nor advised, I simply saw. I went unnoticed, and was content like that. It let me see things that people didn't; things they ignore or things that they'd never see, even if they tried.

I saw your eyes light up when you spoke to me, and the tiniest bit of blush flush your cheeks. Sometimes, it confused me, but I assumed that you enjoyed the hunt, the little banter game that you and I engaged in. But I was surprised, you saw the White Rose.

My White Rose, a fallen piece of star, hidden inside a pure, undefiled rose. It was a symbol to me, a gift from Daddy. It stood for hope, joy, light, life, and love. Daddy said that even though Voldemolt himself had tainted me, I still reminded him of it. I was his hope, joy, light, life, and love. The Rose and I identified with each other, in our own way. We were two stars, shining in a dark world. Dad instructed me to always hold my head high and walk with confidence. I was a Weasley, he said, and I would always, no matter what happened or what I did, be his beloved daughter, and that was enough for him.

And then you came and soiled it. You poured the purist blood on the whitest rose, polluting it. My beautiful White Rose, with the fallen piece of star, stained with the blood from a unicorn. A unicorn, Malfoy, are we really this heartless? You knew that the image of that dead, graceful animal, lying there over a dead stump disturbed me when I stumbled to it. The picture of such an innocent being, laying there, dead in cold murder sketched itself into my mind, and cemented itself there. I now count myself of one of its kind, killed in cold murder.

I screamed when I found my rose. I struck you hard on the cheek when I heard that it was you, Malfoy, who had tainted my rose. I tried to wash the blood off without extinguishing the star or wilting the petals, but the blood had soaked through, and dyed the petals.

But the Rose held on, even though it was covered with blood. And I held on. We were two tainted stars, still shining.

Tell me Malfoy, who is winning this war? The light, or the dark - or should I say the weak and the strong? Each day, more and more die, muggles, wizards, witches. Those guilty, those innocent, those who defend, and those who were unjustly thrown into the war, they join me by the hundreds. Is Voldemolt reigning, or does Harry still hold out, and my death was in vain, and remain unavenged? Or is it the other way around, Malfoy, does Harry reign, and Voldemolt hold out?

Does life for you flash by, or does each day drag on and on, almost never ending? There are no days in heaven, no nights in hell. There is no concept of time in where I am, no hurrying or waiting.

Do you miss me or does your mind not give me a spare thought? Did you come to my grave out of heartbreak, or because this was the day I died?

An interesting thing about muggles is the vast number of illnesses that they have managed to find. I always was fascinated by their ailments of the mind, body, and spirit. Coughs, colds, influenza, deformations, mutilations, chicken pox, mumps, AIDS, albinos, leprosy, insanity, despair, unworthiness; the list goes on and on. One of the most deadly illnesses that a muggle could possibly have was cancer, Malfoy. And there were loads and loads of them, so many that one could have: cancer of the lungs, cancer of the foot, cancer of the brain, cancer of the tongue, cancer of the blood. Muggle doctors poured their lives, resources, time, talent, and trade into saving others that could be saved, holding out hope and praying for the ones that they couldn't, and preventing the disease from appearing in someone else.

A cancer grows, spreads, and infects, maiming parts of the body, rendering them useless, and spreads to other parts. It's a painful thing, having it, and it's a painful thing, having it removed. People die from it. And those who live undergo intense therapy to make sure that it's removed for good. They become weak as medicine kills their own blood cells, they loose their hair under the chemotherapy, and limbs beyond redemption.

You were my cancer, Malfoy. You were the cancer of the heart. I hated you for the most part, really I did. You were my enemy and I was yours. You annoyed me and I annoyed you. It was a daily thing, almost as natural as my next breath.

But then, I still don't know what happened, and words fail me. Something changed between us. Maybe it started in you, or maybe is started in me, I do not know, but it was there. It was a feeling inside that changed the way I thought of you, the way I saw and treated you. I didn't like it and I didn't welcome it, but after a while, I gave in. I was tired and wanted to see what would happen between you and me.

It dared me to look again, and see you with unbiased judgement. It played off the mystery in you, making me want to dig deeper and find you and I became lost in it.

It was a cancer. A disease called love slowly ate away at me as I looked blindly at you. Did you ever feel like that, like you were in so much love that you didn't give a care at the rest of the world?

I felt like that.

All the time.

And I still feel it.

I loved you, Malfoy, and I love you still. I will love you to the end of time and space, when the sea will crash into the ocean and the sun explodes. You were my hope and life-source. You were my addiction and my solution. You were my everything, my all that I had poured myself into. I fell in foolishly and look where I am.

Then you went away, and I had to face school without you. I had to face loneliness, hopelessness, and despair. I pulled through it and it made me stronger. You liked strong. You liked pretty. You liked smart.

And I became all these things, hoping that you would have somehow waited for me, and be pleased by what I had turned out to be.

And maybe it was my love for muggles that sealed my fate. Maybe it was my support for all that stood for hope and light that killed me. All I know that I am dead and I am free.

Free. What a wonderful word. No longer am I held captive by your spellbinding eyes or magical words, now I unconfined. Open.

I am dead, and it is a disease that is irreversible.

There is good in this world, Malfoy, it is everywhere, and it remains. It is frail, but it does not loose hope for a better day tomorrow and a brighter future. And yes, I could see it in everyone and everything, even those who's hope for good had long since died out.

Thank you for the rose, Malfoy; it's beautiful. I would pick it up and kiss it if my hands could hold, but for now, I think that I will cry on it.