Diseased

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This was her time

This was her dance:

To live every moment -

Leave nothing to chance.

She swam in the seas,

Drank of the deep.

Embraced the mystery of all she could be.

What if tomorrow -

What if today -

Faced with The Question,

What would you say?

- 'This was Her Time', Michael W. Smith

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Deceased

Four years ago. To the day.

In fact, Draco, had you come ten minutes later to visit me, it would've been to the hour. Another forty and it would have been to the minute.

At 7:40 PM, on March 31, I died by the wand belonging to Pansy Parkinson outside the Forbidden Forest.

You should remember. You stood there and watched me fall.

The Forbidden Forest had always been an enchantingly haunting place. A place to experience nature, all the beauty, and all the danger that was associated with it. The trees in the forest made you feel humbled; the dead stumps reminded us to appreciate life. The animals, with their curious and innocent nature, observed you with their watchful eyes. It was a place of solitude and quiet.

It was a place where one could escape, and forget.

It was, until you attacked.

The entire castle was captured, and we fought wearily, all the while waiting in hopeful anticipation for help to arrive. We were not ready, I'll admit, and you and your fellow Death Eaters knew it.

It was all the muggle born students first. You took Colin and his brother; they were pale and paralyzed with fear. They were some of the oldest students taken, and they tried to be brave for the first and second years. I watched as one hooded character, his robe flapping behind him walk toward Colin as he lay on the ground, and step on his camera. The lens broke with a shatter, and his heel grounded into the shutter. All around Collin lay dead students, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors, and Hufflepuffs. No Slytherin littered the ground, I noted.

Why, Draco? Why them? They could not choose whom they would be born to be; they could not choose their bloodline. They did not ask to become a wizard or witch; they did not deserve an Avada Kedavra. Why should they have been punished for something they had no control over?

I was next.

Unlike the muggle born, I had a choice. We all have a choice, Draco, we all did. When Voldemolt rose, we all faced a decision, the answer would test our beliefs, make us act on our words. You chose the path that had been predestined for you; I chose the path that had long been encouraged for me. They did not meet up.

I was in my final year, the long anticipated seventh-year, and was walking to the library. The library, especially the small, abandoned muggle fiction corner, was always my escape. You knew because you watched me there. I know because you told me.

They went up behind the group that I was with and grabbed us. Not even out of our school uniform, you played the advantage of surprise, and took the group by force. You took everyone with you, and brought us outside. Your Death Eaters took our robes and wands, any jewelry and charms we might've had, and pocketed them.

They brought us out, and lined us up. They all wore dark hoods and robes, and always looked down, so their faces would be hidden. Their backs were to the setting sun, casting long shadows on the ground.

"If you value your life, you will leave the side of the weak and join us to rid the world of its impurities," the head hood spoke in a loud, commanding tone. We all looked at the hood, wondering which former student it hid. Behind him lined up Death Eater beside Death Eater, all watching us. In their right hands, they held their wands.

"Before you now, we give you a choice. If you want to save your life, join us. If you want to die, refuse."

Die.

Death. It never seemed to frighten me. Dad used to say that people, even people like wizards, are scared of death because they do not know what happens after death. He told me never to mistake ignorance as fear, and I never did. I never held the things of this world too close to me, never hoarded them to myself and try to gain more and more. I valued my life, respected it and honored it, but I never held it close, and I was willing to loose it, if necessary.

I was not afraid to die.

The head hood turned to face James Canter, a shy, cowardly third-year Hufflepuff. Ron often told me that he reminded me of a Death Eater named Peter Pettigrew, in that he was always hiding behind someone who was popular, or smart, or athletic. Ron also told me that Peter had underhandedly framed Sirius Black for the murder of, what was it? Twelve - thirteen people, was it? - with one curse, and that Peter Pettigrew was an animargius, under the alias of Scabbers, Percy, and later Ron's pet rat.

Canter looked at the ground, and then stepped forward. He mumbled something.

"SPEAK UP!"

"I - I join you," he managed to squeak, which did not surprise me. One Death Eater immobilized him, and he lay on the ground, frozen. The fear on his face, however, he could not mask before they paralyzed him, and one could clearly see it on his facade.

Then they turned their attention to me, standing right next to him.

Unlike Canter, who joined you to save what little life you could guarantee him; I would never back down. My heart was jumping inside me, and blush flushed my face, but I set my chin as firm as I could and held my head high, like I had been taught. I looked at the setting gold sun one more time and at the forest behind me, and took a deep breath.

"A life with forgotten values is no life at all," I said, a saying mum used to tell me, in a voice as loud as I could and as calm as I could possibly muster. I never understood why she told me this, up until that moment. There was a strange peace inside of me: I had made my decision, and I would die because of it. It was simple as that.

They were silent, and the head hood flipped down his mask. You stared back at me with a stony, impassive face like I remember, but caustic, livid gray eyes. They asked me questions, they pleaded with me to change. I drew a breath, but never did my mind change.

"We came for the students, weeding the weak from the strong. We did not come here for a lesson, Weasley," you said, spitting out 'Weasley'. I did not care; Weasley was a name that I was always proud to call myself.

"This is still a school, Malfoy. I thought that you walked away knowing at least that little bit," I replied calmly. My fists were clenching at my sides, my nails squeezing my palm. You looked at the noble castle, small pieces of it gone. Its towers, worn by age and weather, were welcoming, and strong. It stood tall, a magnificent piece of work, breathtaking and beautiful, surrounded by a scenic, placid lake and a mysterious and perplexing forest on the other. In the distance, three different sized hops stood erect, their house banners burned, and cinders on their end, encircled by towers with flagged, pointed tops.

"Not for long." You smirked and looked at me, and for a minute, I thought I saw a bit of regret, and concern. The cool, evening wind picked up a piece of my hair and carried it, and together, they danced.

"So you have chosen death?" you asked with the cold, cruel, cutting voice that still haunts my dreams and nightmares.

"Haven't we all?"

Pansy Parkinson stepped forward, her hood tucked under her brown hair. She raised her wand and yelled the words of death, killing me before you could. A simple Avada Kedavra, a bright flash of green light, and I knew I was gone. Dead. I didn't move, or duck, and try to escape it; I stood still, proud, unwilling to change.

The beam of green light hit my chest. It felt like an explosion in my chest, my insides churning and burning. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I could feel my lungs excruciating being squeezed as my last breath escaped me, and my eyes rolled painfully into the back of my head. I was dead before I hit the ground, and I crumpled into a heap, my back arching because of my bent knees and feet. My soul escaped like a whisper of a breeze, a peaceful feeling floating inside me.

Scary, how we work so hard to bring forth life to this Earth, to keep it alive and protect it, only to have our struggles concluded with two simple words. Avada Kedavra, like a raspy breath or a desperate gasp for air. No last words or second chances. Not another breath.

~

You're sleeping now. I'm watching you inside a dark apartment; a girl sleeps on your right side. The moonlight seeps through the blinds that cover the window, bathing the room in a pale, white glow. Is that girl scared of you, Draco? Does she know that she lies next to a murderer, a killer, a Death Eater? Does she even know your name?

I don't know why I came to visit you; I cannot fathom how love works; no one can. It grasped me in a way that I abhorred it and welcomed it at the same time, reason's small voice filtering through my thoughts. It turned a blind eye; it made me do the unthinkable: it told to look again.

Love plagues the mind, supplying visions of imagined perfection and events that would never happen, and encourages us to seek them, knowing all the while we will never find them. It is the force that gives hope, brings life, but it the very same force that tears apart and destroys.

And I apologize Draco, like you have done to me. I'm sorry if I'm your nightmare. I'm sorry if my immortal eighteen-year-old self haunts your thoughts, if I pain you to live. I'm sorry if you feel drawn to visit my grave year after year to remember me, or if you feel obligated to pay respect, I'm sorry that you can never have me.

We were not meant for each other. I loved you, and I will love you until the end of time, but you were not for me and I was not for you. We were too different to be together long, there were too many things that we could not ignore. It was a harsh reality, one that I can never, fully accept, and yet have to live with for the rest of eternity. I could feel it - and I perceive that you could as well - during the short time that we were civil to each other. It was there, and I never wanted to recognize it. For some naïve reason, I thought that if I pretended that it wasn't there, it would fade away. I was always reminded that I thought like that, simple, like a child.

I forgive you. I forgive you for all the times you made fun of me with your cutting words, or teased me with taunts, and for all the times you provoked Ron to fight, and all the detentions he received and points that were deducted from Gryffindor. I forgive you for your haughtiness and arrogance, and I forgive you for making me prove that I was worthy enough - that I was good enough, and up to your standards. I forgive you and your father for the diary, and for all the nightmares of Tom, and I forgive Pansy for killing me.

But forgiveness is flawed because we ourselves are flawed. I want you to feel pain; I want you to feel regret. I want you to have to live without me, much as I want to live with you. I want you to feel remorse for all the times you acted like I wasn't deserving enough, that I was scarred because of you from the moment I entered Hogwarts. I want you to feel like you are held responsible for your Father's actions, or for Pansy's.

I want your conscience hound you down; to hurt you, to pain and bother you - to kill you a million times more than I ever could.

I want forgiveness, but I want justice.

This is the contradiction, the conflict that I have to live with: the paradoxical love and the hatred of you. The disgust of you, and the longing for you. The need for forgiveness and the need for justice. It torments me; you are just out of my reach, and yet, you were never within my reach.

And then there were sometimes that felt as if you were in my secure grasp, and I would never, ever let go.

I'm sorry that my tear landed on you, your pale chest obscures the opal tear. You will become wet with these small pearls; they aren't stopping. You'll wake up soon, I know you will. You'll awake, and see me hovering above you, looking washed, worn, opaque, tired, and wonder why I'm here. You'll wake the sleeping girl beside you with your talking. One quick kiss and I'll leave, I swear I will.

I'm sorry that you have to live like this. I'm sorry I have to live like this. I'm sorry I'm not here for you. I'm sorry you can't hear what I'm saying. I'm sorry that I cried.

Another tear falls...