The Hold

    I fear the day when I will have to face my past.

    Oh, now, I am safe, very much so. I found a potion recipe, in an old dusty book, long forgotten in the garage. Thanks to that spell, I created a Hold. A sort of thing holding the memories in a deep corner of my mind.

    I remember, oh, I remember all right. But I don't feel anything about it. Nothing. Nada. Rien du tout. My mind goes blank whenever he tries to tear a reaction out of me, and I smile softly.

    Did I do anything softly before the hold ? I don't think so.

    I remember - but that's all.

    I remember the day my dog died, for example. The worst day of my life. Until another worst day : the day I found out I had cancer. Ha ! A wizard I was, but bound to die a stupid dumb muggle death ! And the painkillers I took, they were muggle. As was, later on, my chimiotherapy. I never enjoyed spending entire nights vomiting, head in the sink, with nothing but the white - plain - basic view before the eyes...

    The good memories still make me feel, though. The sorting into Slytherin. My parent's divorce (a relief). Malfoy.

    Now, it's hard to determine whether Malfoy is a good or a bad memory, you know. He had caught my eye with his porcelain complexion, and the painter in me coudn't help but admire it. That was good. But as imperfect as I am, Malfoy was too mean. Simply mean. He enjoyed being feared. And that is part of the bad memories.

    However, it would be too simple to describe Malfoy as being a beautiful outside with a dark inside. I could tell beautiful things about his soul. He had sent me poems. He had made me understand that the shape of what you love has no importance. Only the love you give and receive is important.

    And I believed him. Not that he was wrong, of course, love is important, but he messed with my head. What was left of it, anyway. I don't mean that he was deceiving me - he was not.

    He was... Himself. And that was my problem. Because I loved him.

    There - Now I don't feel anything. I used to break down when I said that, now I am expressionless, see my eyes ? Wait, look. I loved him. I still do.

    ... Nothing.

    I used to sketch him like mad, when he was naked, after sex, oblivious to the world but to himself and me, beautiful. He used to caress my back during these nights when I was facing the sink, hating it, burning from the inside, crying of weariness.

    And life in Hogwarts didn't change, we were submitted to this routine, day after day, while the Boy Who Lived was submitted to his fate. Yes, Potter. I couldn't help but notice how we were similar. We submitted. With tears of rage, but we did obey. As for me, I had cried and spat my innocence away, along with the inside of my body, in that devilish sink.

    We were to be tatooed as Death Eaters, of course, our parents wanted it, during the summer vacations after our seventh year. We did not dare oppose their decision, for fear to become dead meat. And I knew I was dying slowly, I wanted too much to live what was left of my time.

    Guess what happened. Good memory, that. I can still feel the thrill, the incredible joy I felt - we felt. You destroyed the Dark Lord. Along with Draco's father, and mine too. Our mothers and my brothers were sent to Azkaban. And we had not taken the Mark, so we were free.

    Free !

    Free... Draco was free. I was still spending nights over the sink. I knew I would never be free, but I enjoyed the illusion - for his sake. And I drew, images of freedom, death, all embodied by Draco.

    The Hold will evaporate, I know it. I can already feel some of the grief : it has started to split. Listen to me before it disappears, Potter. When it does I don't know what will happen to me. You hate Draco as much as I love him. You know him as much as I do.

    Do you remember what people said when we moved in together ? The scorn... And Draco was just turning more and more bitter because of it, he started to hate me. He played more and more his mind games, telling me I was to die, my flesh was rotten...

    I discovered the Hold and put it on me. I lived with it for years...

    Thanks. For listening to me. I needed to say it, and Draco has not come to see me in the hospital. I guess he will be sad when I die, but for now he just wants nothing to do with me. It's all right. I guess it's for the best.

    I think that you might be interested in that Hold, I wrote the ingredients of the potion on that paper. Here, take it, Potter.

    And if Draco grieves, tell him that I love him as much as he hates me. Tell him that in the attic I have hidden all the drawings, and I would like to be buried with them.