His Memories

His Memories

Prologue

You know, I spend my days hiding, and never know what to do with myself. If I only had a book [diary] every now and then... The Baron in the Trees, Italo Calvino

~*~

I swear, if I have to read one more letter from my brother telling me why I should "dump Malfoy on his arse" I'm going to quit calling myself a Weasley.

Good morning to you too.

Well, maybe I wouldn't go that far, but ever since Hermione finished her Auror training, she and Ron have become more paranoid. There are times I just wish his fiancée would stop talking to him about her job altogether.

I'm sure it's not as bad as you say. I can't imagine Hermione letting her emotions control her.

It's not Hermione really, it's Ron, and he sent me another letter today. That unruly clump of feathers with a beak Pigwidgeon dropped the letter in my pumpkin juice at breakfast this morning. Doesn't he have anything better to do than concern himself with my love life?

He is your older brother, and that's what he's supposed to do.

I'll give you that, but there was nothing new in his letter; at least I assume there wasn't. I didn't read it that carefully, and once I threw it in the dustbin, it was like the letter had never been sent. But that's not what I'm concerning myself wih right now; it's my letter from Draco. I promised myself that I wouldn't read it until after Double Potions. I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate in class if I did. Snape would take points away from Gryffindor for sure if he caught me writing a letter instead of taking notes.

We wouldn't want Gryffindor losing house points now, would we?

Well, it's too late for that. I've already missed the first part of Potions.

Then you have time to tell me what the letter said.

I picked it up and read my name "Virginia Weasley" on the front. He always begins his letters with my full name; he's the only one of my friends who I let call me Virginia, besides you. It makes me feel older, especially the way he says it. Anyway, I turned over the envelope and found the green wax seal imprinted with a dragon. I ran my finger over it, smiling as I thought about the day I gave him the seal. I hoped that each time he sent me a letter while I was still at Hogwarts, he would be reminded of the other thing I gave him that day.

You never told me about that day.

I never told anyone about that day.

And this letter?

My rational side lost out, and I opened it, knowing he would be telling me something like "I can't wait to see you this weekend in Hogsmeade."

I didn't know you had an irrational side.

I must have picked it up from Ron. The letter was short, and it said nothing about the weekend, just that he needed to meet me at the edge of the forest as soon as I got the letter. And now I'm late for Potions, waiting impatiently for him. It's cold out, and I can hardly hold my quill steady.

Do be careful. You know I never trusted him.

~*~

She stared intently at the words, all the while insisting to herself that she was always careful. The diary rarely made such direct, opinionated statements, or at least it never had a reason to. The end of her quill gently brushed her cheek as she rested her back once more against the tree at the edge of the forest.

"Virginia, you came." She heard the voice of her love, the one the diary didn't trust. To her right, flowing deep blue robes approached, and she looked up to see his hand outstretched, his fingers twirling around a lock of her auburn hair. It wasn't a natural auburn, but it distinguished her from the rest of the Weasley clan. She wasn't ashamed of them; she simply wanted to be acknowledged as Ginny or Virginia, and not just as "the youngest Weasley."

"I could get in so much trouble for this."

Draco wove his fingers with hers, and pulled his beloved towards him. The chill of the spring morning vanished as their bodies met.

"And yet you still came," he said matter-of-factly. "They are not going to expel the head girl for meeting her dashing boyfriend in the Dark Forest."

Everyone always told her he sounded arrogant, even the diary, but that wasn't true. He was his tone was confident, like his father's, but without the utter contempt for all things not Malfoy. His voice was soothing, and she would melt into him every time he spoke. All thoughts of where she should have been dissolved away as her lips joined his, drinking him in. Her delicate fingers were dancing through his silvery blond hair. He wore his hair long, but it was distinguishing, not like the slicked-back style he brandished while at Hogwarts. She would have stayed there all morning had he not pulled back, leaving her standing with her eyes closed and her hand falling to his shoulder.

Together they walked into the forest, but she felt safe with Draco by her side. He would never let any harm come to her. But as they walked deeper into the forest, she became anxious. "Draco, where are we going?" Her voice was soft, but hinted at her fear because of what the diary had told her.

"You'll see," he spoke with a tone he'd used before, but rarely directed at her.

She tried to stop, but he kept pulling at her hand to follow, their fingers were still intertwined and he was holding her hand tightly.

There was no sign of the edge of the forest, no direct sunlight to tell her that it was still morning, and too many shadows for creatures to hide in. "Wait, we've gone far enough Draco. I don't like this place." She pleaded with him to take her back to the castle.

"Please, come with me." He looked into her eyes; the dazzling silvery blue eyes that she loved about him were a dull gray in the dim light of the forest. With her hand still in his, she reluctantly followed, turning her head back every time she thought she heard footsteps. Something was following them, but Draco seemed undaunted by the forest and it's occupants as he led her toward a small clearing where they finally stopped.

The ground was littered with dead leaves, and the occasional tree root. A stagnant, humid, and eerily familiar smell permeated everything. The sense of smell can sometimes break the strongest memory charm, including that which we place on ourselves to forget a tragedy. "I think I know this place." Her eyes widened.

Draco held both of her hands tenderly, and, leaning down to kiss her cheek, he whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry." before reaching into her pocket to pull out the diary. He backed away from her slowly, holding the leather bound book; the corners of his mouth were turning up in an arrogant smile. He was jealous of a silly diary.

"Sorry for what? Give it to me," she demanded.

"So he doesn't trust me." He looked at the cover of the diary, running his fingers over the name on the back.

"Well, after--"

"I thought you would never bring that up again." A fire seemed to shine from behind his eyes, turning the dull gray into a burnished silver.

"It was here. Now I remember. This is the spot." Her eyes welled with tears, picturing the lifeless body lying on the ground, and remembering the promise she made.

"My father killed him, not me! But you won't let him go."

"Draco, be reasonable, it's just a diary," But not just any diary.

"It's his memory, Virginia." Draco stood up straight, trying to banish his emotions, but as he gazed into his girlfriend's pleading face, he felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. "Damn him." Draco stood his ground, not wiping the tear that trailed down his cheek, or brushing aside the strand of hair that had fallen forward. He carelessly tossed the diary to the ground; the raised gold letters of his name facing her. She knelt down, reaching for the diary, but pulled away at the last second as Draco took out his wand, fixing it on the diary.

"Please," her voice trembled.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Avada Kedavra!"